Perseverance
by EKWTSM9
Summary: Sometimes things are not always what they seem - especially when it comes to murder.
1. Chapter 1

"Okay, one more time, Patrolman. Why did you need us here?"

The young uniformed officer squirmed visibly, looking down and clearing his throat, trying to avoid his superior's penetrating stare. The very tired looking lieutenant, his fedora perched almost haphazardly on his head, his tie loose and top shirt button undone was staring at the patrolman's downturned head, his impatience almost palpable.

The lieutenant's younger partner was standing several feet away, looking equally exhausted and disheveled, but a wry, almost sympathetic smile played across his face and he turned away with a barely perceptible chuckle.

"Well, sir," the patrolman started tentatively, "we have a body and…" His voice trailed off as he gestured vaguely towards the deceased lying face down on the hotel room floor.

Mike Stone leaned forward slightly as the pause lengthened. "Yes, I can see that, Patrolman…ah…" he glanced at the nametag on the dark blue shirt, "Johnson. But what makes you think this is a murder?" The voice was velvety smooth but everyone in the room could hear the barely suppressed irritation.

A slightly louder chuckle that became a covering cough erupted from the inspector as he took a step deeper into the room and knelt beside the body.

The lieutenant turned slightly and gestured towards the floor. "So are there any signs of foul play here? Any signs of a fight or any kind of physical altercation?"

It took the patrolmen a few seconds to clue in that the questions were not quite rhetorical. "Oh, ah, no, sir."

"Steve," Mike said without looking at his partner, "do you see any signs of violence on the body?"

The inspector scanned the deceased, a middle-aged man, wearing a t-shirt and boxer shorts, lying face down on the carpet at the foot of the bed, head towards the door, half a burned out cigarette in his upraised left hand. He rolled the body slightly, glancing underneath.

"Nope, nothing. There's not a mark on him that I can see."

Mike, who had turned to his partner, looked slowly back at the patrolman. "So what makes you think this poor guy just didn't have a heart attack?"

Johnson swallowed heavily and cleared his throat again. "Well, sir, um, the sliding glass door to the balcony was open slightly and, ah, and the dead bolt wasn't on the door. The room is really hot and the air conditioning wasn't on, and you know it was a really unusually hot day today."

As Steve got to his feet, Mike slipped both hands into his pockets and looked around the room. Taking a deep breath, he asked quietly, "Who is he and who found the body?"

The patrolman perked up, opening the notebook in his hand. Steve suppressed a smile. "His name is John Bennett and he's a salesman for a paper company, Carlton Stationary, based here. He lives upstate in McKinleyville, which is near Eureka. The hotel manager says he knows him – he's a regular, two to three times a year.

"He had a business meeting this morning and when he didn't show up, one of his associates, a Fred Neuberger, showed up here and asked the manager if they could check up on him and they found him like this." He gestured towards the floor with his notebook.

Mike looked back at the body and took a deep breath. He glanced at his partner, only to be met with a wry half smile as Steve looked away with a shake of his head, starting back towards the door.

"Well, Patrolman Johnson," Mike said with a heavy sigh, "if you find any signs of foul play, you let us know, but right now, this just looks like an unfortunate natural death. So why don't you follow up on this - call Mr. ah…."

"Bennett, sir."

"Mr. Bennett's wife, let her know what's happened to her husband, find out if he has a history of heart disease or anything else, follow up with the autopsy…you know, the usual." Mike put a gentle hand on the patrolman's chest and looked into his eyes. "I admire your enthusiasm, Johnson, but you just have to be careful not to turn every death into a homicide. We're busy enough already."

"Ah, yes, sir," Johnson stammered, nodding.

Mike smiled kindly, then turned to the others in the room – Johnson's partner, the hotel manager and one of the city's coroners. "Thanks, fellas." Trying to suppress a yawn, and rubbing the back of his neck wearily, he followed his partner out into the corridor.

With a smile and a chuckle, Steve glanced back at the older man. "Yeah, that was just what we needed this morning. So, how many hours has it been now since either of us has been home?" He rubbed a hand over his tired eyes then through his hair.

Mike snorted. "I've lost track. Tell ya what, when we get back in the car, turn off the radio. I don't want to answer another call before I get up close and personal with my bed for at least eight hours."

Steve chuckled. "You have to admit, the guy has enthusiasm."

"You can say that again," Mike laughed as he fell into step beside his partner. "Kinda reminds me of me. Did I ever tell you about the first dead body I came across as a rookie?"

Steve shook his head. They had arrived at the elevators and he punched the 'down' button.

"Oh yeah," Mike said with a nod, "I thought I had it all figured out. The old lady was dead at the foot of her stairs. She lived in one of those beautiful old Victorian's over on Steiner. Worth a mint, even back then. So I had it all figured out – some greedy relative pushed her down the stairs so they could get their inheritance. I was so sure I took my theory right to the captain, went right over the head of my sergeant."

The elevator car had arrived and they stepped in.

"So," Steve asked, "were you right?"

Mike chuckled as he leaned against the back of the car, hands in his pocket, and crossed his legs. "Oh yeah, I was right, alright." As Steve looked at him sideways, he chuckled even harder. "Turned out she tripped over her cat."

# # # # #

Through the fog of a heavy sleep, Steve thought he heard both his doorbell and heavy pounding on his front door. With a groan, he pushed himself up onto one elbow and looked at his clock/radio. 8:14. He glanced at the window but when no sunlight peaked around the curtains, he groaned again and flopped back down on the bed. He'd only been asleep for about five hours…

The doorbell and pounding continued, and was still going about a minute later when the door opened and a bleary-eyed, dressing-gowned Steve glared at the equally reddened, heavy-lidded eyes of his partner. "Mike, what the hell…?"

"Get dressed," the older man growled. "I just got a call from Bernie. They're doing the autopsy on that guy from the hotel this morning…and there's something he wants to show us."

# # # # #

"This better be good, Bernie. Steve and I have had about four hours sleep in the past 48," Mike grumbled as they strode into the autopsy room, glancing quickly at the body under a sheet on the table.

The head coroner looked up from the file folder in his hand, somewhat taken aback at the disheveled appearance of the two usually dapper detectives. "Sorry, Mike, but Patrolman Johnson said you told him to let you know if there were any signs of foul play and ah, well…" He hefted the folder.

Mike glanced at his partner, eyebrows raised. "So, what, it wasn't a heart attack?" he asked the doctor.

"Not even close." Bernie moved to the autopsy table, pulling the sheet down to the reveal the body's entire torso. Both detectives winced at the sight of the still exposed organs of John Bennett. Bernie suppressed a smile as Mike closed his eyes briefly and Steve looked away but they both quickly pulled themselves together and stepped closer to the table.

"Okay, so, as you can see we have bruising here and here," the coroner said, pointing to areas on Bennett's left hip and ribcage, "which could be consistent with a fall, but could also be the result of a beating. But that's not what I wanted you to see." He pointed at the lower abdominal area. "His bowels are ruptured, as is his stomach, his heart is lacerated and his chest cavity was filled with blood." He hesitated and took a deep breath. "But that's not all."

He turned the sheet down even more. "There is a laceration on the scrotum, that might have come from a kick," he said evenly, and peripherally he saw both detectives wince and cringe slightly, as he knew they would.

Steve was staring at the body. "What are you saying, Bernie?"

The coroner took a deep breath. "Gentlemen, the cause of this man's death was blunt force trauma. This man was murdered."

Mike rocked back on his heels. Steve's head came up quickly, staring at Bernie then he turned and looked at his partner, who met his gaze. Mike's eyes slid back to the body and he rubbed his left hand over his mouth. Exhaling loudly, he said wryly, "Well, I guess I owe Patrolman Johnson an apology."


	2. Chapter 2

Mike pulled his stare away from the exposed body on the table, took a deep breath, and looked up once more the coroner. "You're absolutely sure about this?" he asked quietly.

The thin, dark-haired pathologist nodded grimly. "As sure as I can be at this point, Mike. Sorry. I know you guys have been really busy lately…" He glanced past the lieutenant to the inspector; both detectives looked like they hadn't slept in days, and he knew was adding one more burden.

Mike sighed and rubbed the heel of his left hand into his left eye, as if he could knead the exhaustion away. "Okay, thanks, Bernie. Do me a favor, will ya? When you get the autopsy finished, can you have someone drop the report on my desk? Steve and I really need to get some sleep before we even begin to start a new case."

"Sure, Mike." There was almost sympathy in the doctor's soft voice.

Mike turned slowly from the table. "Come on, buddy boy," he said quietly, and they exited the chilly room into the darkened hallway.

Steve glanced up at his silent companion as they walked down the corridor. "So, what, we're going home?" he asked with quiet optimism.

"We're going home," Mike said with a confirming nod. "I don't want either of us starting this without clear heads."

# # # # #

Steve walked into the Homicide bureau shortly after 9 the next morning, not at all surprised to see his partner sitting behind the desk in the inner office, glasses on, a file folder in his hands. Dropping his jacket on the back of his chair, he crossed to the coffee table and picked up a mug. Pouring, he leaned back into the open doorway. Mike still hadn't looked up and was unaware of his partner's arrival.

"So what time did you get in?" Steve said a little louder than normal and grinned when the older man jumped slightly, looked up and, with a smile, took off his glasses and dropped the file onto the desk.

"Oh, ah, good morning." He chuckled. "I got in about an hour ago. I just couldn't –"

"I know, you couldn't sleep," Steve finished as he entered the office with his cup of coffee and flopped into the second chair.

Mike put his hands behind his head and leaned back. "Couldn't turn the brain off," he said with a grin as he stretched. "This one," he shook his head and nodded towards the file, "this one is gonna be a real puzzler I think. That's Bernie's report."

Steve leaned forward and picked up the file, putting his coffee cup on the desk. "Anything interesting?"

"Well, Bernie put the time of death between eight and midnight the night before – he can't be any more specific than that. And he's officially listed the C.O.D. as homicide, so we're up, buddy boy."

Glancing through the paperwork, Steve asked, "So, what do you want to do first?"

Mike leaned forward, putting his forearms on the desk. "Well, I called the hotel when I got in and had them put a hold on that room until we can get there. I want to have a good look at it. And I want to talk to Patrolman Johnson. If I remember correctly, I think I told him to get in touch with Bennett's wife and inform her of her husband's death and I want to know if he did that or not."

"And then, of course, there's the crow eating…" Steve said slowly, looking up at the older man under his lowered brow, trying not to laugh. He could feel the blue eyes boring into the top of his head.

"You're going to enjoy that, aren't you?"

Steve raised his head, grinning. "Well, it's not often the great Mike Stone has to apologize to someone, and I wanna make sure I have a front row seat."

"Ha ha ha," Mike said dryly, starting to get to his feet. "Finish your coffee, I want to pick up the photographs at the lab and then get over to the hotel. And you're driving – maybe I can grab a few winks in the car." He crossed around the desk, stopping at the coat rack to pick up his jacket and hat.

Chuckling, gulping his coffee as he tossed the folder back onto the desk, Steve got to feet and followed his partner out the door.

# # # # #

"I can assure you, Lieutenant, nobody has been in this room since late yesterday afternoon. After the coroner took the body away, we just locked it up. I was going to have one of my maids get to it later this morning and one of the bellhops pack up Mr. Bennett's belongings after we got the word, but you called before I could arrange that."

"So nothing been touched?" Mike confirmed, looking around the room from where he stood near the door, beside the hotel manager.

"No, sir, not a thing."

"What do you mean, 'got the word'?" Steve asked from his position near the bed.

"Oh," replied the manager with a quick smile, "Officer Johnson told us not to touch anything until we heard from him…something about waiting for the results from the autopsy, I think he said." He looked from Mike to Steve, and the older detective followed his gaze.

Steve stared at his partner with upraised eyebrows and more than a hint of a sardonic smile.

Suddenly the manager's expression turned apprehensive. "I did do the right thing, didn't I? I mean –"

"No, no," Mike said quickly, turning back to the hotelier, "you did the right thing, don't worry." He took a deep breath, glancing back at his partner, who turned away quickly, pretending, Mike knew, to be interested in the contents of the file folder in his hand. "Ah, listen, Mr., ah, Mr. Baker," Mike continued, glancing at the manager's I.D. badge, "we can take it from here." He took Baker by the elbow and turned him towards the door. "We'll let you know when we're done."

Looking back at the older detective over his shoulder as he was propelled into the corridor, Baker stammered, "Oh, ah, very well, Lieutenant. Just call me if you –"

The manager's voice disappeared as Mike closed the door and turned back into the room.

Head down over the file, Steve was hard-pressed to hide his grin. "That crow just keeps getting bigger and bigger…"

"Keep it up, wise guy, and you'll be riding shotgun in Johnson's black-and-white." Mike moved towards the bed, giving the small two-room efficiency a thorough once over. "So, what do you think?"

With a final chuckle, Steve picked up a couple of photos, looking from them to the actual scene in front of him. "Well, from what I can tell, the manager was right – nothing's been moved."

His hands in his pockets, Mike nodded slowly. "Okay, so, what does all this tell us? What have we got?"

"Well, it looks like Bennett was sitting on the bed, watching TV – it was on when they opened the room yesterday morning – eating some popcorn – there's the remains of a Jiffy Pop pan beside the stove in the "kitchen"', he said with a smirk, making 'quote marks' with the first two fingers of his right hand. He gestured towards the bed, where the pillows were propped up against the headboard and on the rumpled bedspread sat a green Pyrex bowl half-full of popcorn, a pack of Marlboro cigarettes, a lighter and a half-filled ashtray. There was a stack of newspapers on the desk and clothes over the desk chair but nothing looked out of place.

"And he was found here," Mike said slowly, looking at the floor at his feet from his spot at the end of the bed. "So, what? He hears someone knocking, he gets up and crosses to the door, opens it and what? He gets kicked in the crotch and he goes down? Then the guy kicks him again when he's on the floor?" He looked up at his partner, eyes a question.

Steve shrugged, his head bobbling.

"But if that's the case," Mike continued, "wouldn't he be lying on his back? He wouldn't be lying on his face facing the door. And chances are the cigarette would have been knocked out of his hand." He sighed then growled slightly. "Okay, maybe if I wasn't so tired I could make some sense out of this. You?"

Steve shook his head slowly, his face contorted in bafflement. "I got nothing. But I do know that we have a hell of a lot of legwork to do. I'll get with the manager and ask him to give us a list of whoever was in the adjacent rooms and the rooms across the hall, see if they heard anything."

"Sounds good. We also need to get a list of the phone calls made to and from this room, and I want to talk to his colleagues here in town." He took a deep breath and looked up at his own colleague. "Let's get that in the works and then you and I are going on a little road trip."

Steve frowned.

"McKinleyville. I want to talk to his wife in person, see if our Mr. Bennett had a dark side we aren't aware of as yet. And you know me and passing the time of day…" he finished with a chuckle. "If we leave first thing tomorrow morning, we should be able to make the trip there and back in a day. We'll take turns driving," he continued, a twinkle in his eye. "That way we might be able to catch up on some of our shut-eye."


	3. Chapter 3

**Many, many thanks to my loyal readers and reviewers. Just a word of warning for those of you looking for** **a story full of hurt/comfort, or 'whumpage' to use a cool new noun, you're gonna have to look elsewhere -this one is a pure procedural - and, hopefully, somewhat of a character study. I hope you will enjoy!**

Dark glasses on against the bright morning sunlight, Steve Keller glanced across the front seat and chuckled to himself, shaking his head with a warm smile.

Mike had taken off his jacket, folded it neatly and propped it between the top of the seat and the passenger side window as a pillow. And with his tie loosened, collar unbuttoned, fedora pulled down over his eyes and both hands folded over his stomach, he was fast asleep, snoring gently.

They had hit the road just before dawn. Going against the flow of morning rush hour traffic, it hadn't taken too long to get onto Highway 101 north towards Eureka and, eventually, McKinleyville. They hoped to get there by early afternoon and be back in San Francisco by midnight at the latest.

Steve thought back to the previous afternoon. A further search of the hotel room had turned up the victim's keys and wallet in the bedside nightstand and, with four $100 bills in the billfold, robbery was quickly ruled out. And the balcony was eliminated as a point of entry as there was no direct access to it from anywhere without the perpetrator being an acrobat.

Returning to the office after leaving the hotel, Mike had, somewhat reluctantly, called the Shift Commander with a request for Patrolman Johnson to drop by when he had finished his shift. Steve had set about contacting Carlton Stationary for the names and addresses of the associates who were attending the meetings in town, and the hotel manager to request the list of the phone calls charged to Bennett's room as well as the names of the guests in the rooms adjacent and opposite.

In the middle of the conversation with the head of the paper company, he glanced up as Patrolman Johnson came through the Homicide squadroom door. The young cop had his hat in his hands and his head down, reminding Steve of an innocent student being summoned to the principal's office for an offense he didn't commit.

Desperately not wanting to miss what he knew was going to transpire in the next few minutes, and failing to catch what the Carlton Stationary office manager had just said to him, Steve mumbled something barely coherent about having to take another call and asking if he could call the manager back. By the time the startled gentleman on the other end of the line agreed that he could be reached anytime within the next half hour, Steve was on his feet, the receiver still pressed against his ear but his eyes on the young patrolman's back as he knocked on the inner office door. Mike, looking up and taking off his glasses, got up and crossed to the door, opening it and shaking the uniformed cop's hand.

Steve finally heard the man on other end of the phone say "Alright then, goodbye, Inspector" and he quickly hung up the receiver, turning to the inner office just in time to see Johnson step deeper into the room and Mike loudly and firmly close the office door. "Damn!" Steve muttered under his breath as he slumped back down onto his chair, still staring at the inner office. He watched as Mike crossed back around his desk and sat, his eyes briefly flicking up and meeting his partner's, in that split second seeming to say "Gotcha!"

About five minutes later, Johnson, his handsome young face wreathed in smiles, stood as Mike did; they shook hands warmly and the older man escorted him to the door. As he opened it, Steve could hear his partner say, "So, Mark, like I said, Steve and I are going to be out of town tomorrow, so I don't need to hear from you till the day after, so that should give you plenty of time."

"Yes, sir."

Mike held out his hand again and the young patrolman shook it proudly.

"Thank you again, Lieutenant. You two have a safe trip now," he said affably, glancing in Steve's direction as he turned and strode across the room to the door, a spring in his step.

Grinning, Mike stared at his partner, then, chuckling almost maliciously, crossed back around his desk and sat, putting his glasses back on and picking up the file he had been reading earlier, the smile lingering.

With a resigned sigh, Steve dropped into the second chair, leaned back and crossed his legs. Mike continued to peruse the file, refusing to acknowledge his partner's presence. Finally, with a shake of his head and a smirk, Steve cleared his throat.

Mike looked up from the file. "Oh," he said in mock surprise, "you still here?" Almost able to successfully hide his smile, he asked innocently, "Is there something I can do for you?"

Deciding to go along with the charade for the time being, his own smile not quite disappearing, Steve said with pseudo gravity, "I just wanted to let you know all those lists you wanted – the business associates, phone calls and the other guests – well, they're in the works…we should have everything by the time we get back from upstate."

Mike listened intently, eyebrows raised, then nodded and smiled. "Good, good. Let's hope we get something concrete from all that." He paused, then, "So…anything else?"

Steve stared at him, then smiled broadly. "You closed your door."

"What?" Mike pretended not to understand.

"You closed your door."

"Oh," Mike said in mock surprise, gesturing vaguely towards the door, "you mean just now, with Patrolman Johnson?"

Nodding and smiling sardonically, Steve chuckled. "Yeah, just now."

"Did I?" Mike looked slightly shocked then he flashed the patented Stone grin. "Sorry about that. I totally forgot that you wanted to join us." He shrugged, the Cheshire cat smiling lingering. "You know, I've just been so forgetful lately…must be the lack of sleep."

Steve leaned slowly across the desk, leaning on his forearms, staring into his partner's guileless eyes, then shook his head and chuckled smarmily. "So what did you say to him?"

Leaning back and laughing, Mike shook his head, acknowledging that the game was over. He wagged his right index finger. "I knew you wanted to see me grovel."

Laughing himself, Steve leaned back and crossed his legs again. "Seriously, what did you say to him?" he asked affably.

"Ah, I told him what Bernie had found and that we were now treating it as a homicide. And I told him he had good instincts and he should think of going for his shield in a few years when he has more experience."

"And…?"

"And what?"

"Did you actually apologize for blowing him off yesterday?"

"Well," Mike hedged, looking down at the desk and moving some papers around abstractedly, "not in so many words." He looked up. "But I think he got the jist."

"The jist? Really?"

"Look, I'm gonna write this up and flag it for Rudy and the rest of the brass, so the kid's gonna get recognition for his…keen observations and suspicious nature. I think he has the makings of a first rate detective a little further down the road. Don't you?"

"Sure, sure," Steve agreed, grinning sarcastically. "You just couldn't bring yourself to say it, could you?"

"Say what?" Mike asked, all innocence.

"'Say what?' To say you're sorry, that's what."

Mike turned his palms up in a 'what are you talking about' gesture, frowning. "What do I have to be sorry about?" On Steve's baffled stare, he started to laugh. "Okay, okay, yes, you can relax, I told the kid I should have given his observations a little more weight, but –" Mike continued quickly when Steve opened his mouth to interrupt "- I also told him that the balcony was not an entry point and the mere fact the deadbolt wasn't on the door was not a sign that it was a murder." He sat back and folded his arms. "Satisfied?"

Smiling and chuckling, Steve stood up and crossed slowly to the door then turned back. "So, ah, during all this, ah, back and forth you had, did you find out if Johnson made the notification to Bennett's wife?"

Mike's eyebrows shot up. "As a matter of fact, I did. And yes, he did. So she thinks her husband died of a possible heart attack but Johnson told her they needed to do an autopsy first and then they would ship his body up to McKinleyville. He said she was pretty shook up but she seemed to be okay with that, so she'll be at home when we get up there tomorrow."

Hand on the doorframe, Steve shook his head. "He's a pretty sharp cookie, that Johnson. You better keep an eye on him, I think he's gunning for _your_ job."

"Ah, I'm not worried," Mike said with a chuckle, leaning back. "He has to get past you first before he can get to me."

# # # # #

Mike woke up when he felt the car pull off the paved road onto gravel. Raising his head slightly, and lifting the front brim of his fedora, he glanced around. "What are we stopping here for?" he asked, clearing his throat.

"We need gas and I gotta use the washroom. We're about a half-hour out of McKinleyville, Sleeping Beauty. Better pull yourself together before we meet up with Mrs. Bennett."

"Good idea," Mike groaned as he sat up straighter, starting work the kinks out after his four-hour sleep on the LTD's front seat.

Fortified with coffee and diner hotdogs, they pulled into the small town of McKinleyville about forty minutes later, driving past the large blue, pink and yellow sign proclaiming "Where horses have the right of way". They certainly weren't in San Francisco anymore.

Mike had Bennett's file on his knees and was going over what they knew about their victim one last time as his did up his collar button and tightened his tie. He glanced out the window at the small well-cared-for houses that lined the curb-less streets, fully aware that in a few short minutes, he was going to have to explain to a newly widowed woman that her husband of 26 years had been beaten to death in a San Francisco hotel room.

With a heavy sigh, he glanced at his partner. "Buddy boy, let me handle this on my own, okay? Why don't you take the car and drive around town, maybe find a diner or something and try to get a feel for Mr. John Bennett. I'm thinking, a town this size, I'm sure everyone knows everyone else. See if he seems as squeaky clean in real life as he seems to on paper. What do you say?"

His eyes scanning the street signs, looking for their destination, Steve nodded. He still hated making notifications; he wasn't sure if he would ever get used to it. And Mike always seemed to have a way of calming even the most grief-stricken of recipients. It was one of the many things he admired about the man.

Locating the street, the large tan sedan made the turn and stopped in front of a well-kept dark gray clapboard house, complete with white picket fence and colourful garden. Mike took it in then turned to his partner. "Give me about an hour, then come pick me up and we'll visit some of Bennett's clients together. I want to get a good feel for the man."

Releasing a deep breath, the file folder still in hand, Mike opened the door and got out of the car. Steve watched as the older man readjusted his hat, tie and shirt cuffs, then crossed around the car and up the walkway to the front door. As Steve put the sedan into Drive and pulled away, the front door opened.


	4. Chapter 4

Steve looked up from his study of the coffee cup in front of him. Mike was sitting back against the booth seat, his arms folded and his head down, staring at nothing, it seemed. He hadn't said much since Steve had picked him up at the Bennett's about a half hour earlier. The younger man assumed that his visit with the new widow had been more demanding than usual.

Steve had been there before, and knew that he just had to give his partner time to process what he had just been through. Sometimes it took a little longer.

Eventually Mike shook his head slightly and took a deep breath, looking up and meeting Steve's stare. "Sorry, buddy boy, that was a tough one." He took another deep breath. "So, ah, did you find out anything?"

Smiling sympathetically, Steve nodded. "I talked to about eight, ten people around town, and they all said the same thing – he was a nice stand-up guy, he and his wife had a great marriage, there was nothing anybody could think of that would make somebody want to kill him." He shrugged. "Everybody's in shock, they can't believe it." He hesitated, seeing Mike's stare unfocus again.

The waitress approached their table with the coffee pot. She held it up, her eyes a question. Steve smiled at her and nodded. "Please," he said and leaned back while she refilled his cup. He glanced across the table at Mike, who had taken no notice of the waitress's appearance. When Mike didn't respond to her, she looked at Steve again and he nodded. She filled Mike's cup, smiled kindly back at Steve, and left the table.

When Mike still didn't move, Steve slid the milk jug and sugar bowl closer to his cup. "You okay?" he asked gently.

Mike shook himself again and looked up. "Sorry, buddy boy," he repeated and cleared his throat. "I don't know what it is; she just, ah, she really got to me."

"How so?"

He dropped his stare once more. "She was absolutely devastated but she was holding herself together so amazingly well… when I told her what the results of the autopsy were –" He stopped himself and looked up quickly. "I didn't go into all the details, believe me, I just told her about the bruises, and that the coroner said he was beaten to death."

With a loud exhale, he sat forward and picked up the milk jug. While he fixed his coffee, becoming a little more animated, he said quietly, "I believe her, Steve. I believe John and her had a great marriage and there was nothing in his life that would make anyone want to kill him…I really do." He took a sip of his coffee. "I don't know what it is," he said with raised eyebrows, "maybe I'm just over-tired, but this is really starting to get under my skin. We haven't even really gotten into this case, we've hardly talked to anyone yet, we don't really know anything about the victim yet, and all I know right now is that I want to get the answers for her. I promised her that…" He looked back down at the table and shook his head slightly.

Steve had never seen his partner looking so rattled. He waited several seconds before asking, "So, do you want to call it a day here and head back home, or do you still want to talk to some of Bennett's clients?"

Mike looked back up, expressionless, and then he smiled slightly, gratefully. "I think we should get back to work, don't you?" he asked rhetorically. He picked up his cup and took a big gulp, standing as he returned to cup to the saucer. He took his hat off the nearby rack as Steve stood and reached into his pocket.

"I've got this," the younger man said with a smile, tossing a five-dollar bill onto the table.

Mike stopped, and smiled at his partner. "Thanks, buddy boy," he said quietly.

"You're welcome," came the sincere reply as the older man fell into step behind him and they made their way to the exit.

# # # # #

Mike glanced again at the police radio in the centre of the dashboard of the LTD, once more slightly miffed that it wasn't a real, normal radio. With Steve asleep in the backseat, it was going to be a long, quiet drive back to The City, and he would've loved to listen to the Giants game to help pass the time. He realized he didn't remember if the Giants were actually playing that night, but even if they weren't, well, Oakland was a poor second choice but at least it was baseball.

He thought back over the day, still slightly embarrassed that he had reacted so strongly to his meeting with Bennett's widow. He had long ago mastered the technique of distancing himself from someone else's grief, a necessary tool of his chosen profession, but once in a while a person or a case would become so much more than routine. Not that any murder was routine, he conceded…

They had accomplished so much, yet so little, in their few hours in McKinleyville. Having gone there with the hope of uncovering something in Bennett's private life that may have lead them in one direction or another with regards to their fledgling investigation, they were leaving with only one solid indisputable fact: John Alan Bennett had no enemies and there was no discernable reason that he would be murdered in his hotel room in San Francisco. Whatever happened to Bennett in The City, it had started and ended in The City. That simple reality could make their job a lot easier, or a lot harder.

Shaking his head quickly and trying to suppress a yawn, Mike made a mental note to look for the next gas station-cum-diner. He knew he needed to clear his head and grab a cup of coffee if he was going to make it back to San Francisco without falling asleep behind the wheel.

A half-hour later, coffee cup in hand, a chuckling Mike got back into the car, glancing into the back seat at his still sleeping partner. Nothing, it seemed, would rouse him at the moment, not even the teenaged boy who had filled the tank, yelling to his friend on the other side of the lot the entire time.

# # # # #

It was twenty-five minutes after midnight when Mike pulled the sedan to a stop outside the Union Street apartment. For a split second, it crossed his mind just to leave Steve asleep in the backseat, lock the car up and take a cab home, but he thought better of it.

Now, though, he had to figure a way to wake his damn near comatose partner. He toyed briefly with the idea of using the siren, but that would also wake the neighbours and Mike did have sympathy for them. Then he remembered that one of Steve's neighbours had a very friendly dog but, once again, the time of day was against him.

With a resigned sigh, he settled for leaning over the back of the front seat and jostling Steve's arm. The younger man's head came up quickly and he blinked several time, confused. "Hey, Snow White, you're home," Mike chuckled as he got out and opened the back door.

"What time is it?" Steve grumbled as he got his bearings and crawled out of the car.

"Just after midnight. I made very good time," Mike announced smugly as waited for Steve to clear the door so he could close it. "You got your key?"

Still sleepy, Steve patted his jacket pockets then nodded.

"Good," said Mike, getting back behind the wheel. "I'll pick you up at eight. On the dot." He shifted into Drive and swung the car into a tight three-point turn. Steve was still standing on the sidewalk, looking somewhat confused, when a grinning Mike drove past him on his way up the hill and turned left on Montgomery.

# # # # #

Looking a little more human than they had in days, the two homicide detectives strode into the office shortly after eight the next morning. As Steve stopped at his desk, shrugging off his jacket and dropping it onto the back of his chair, Mike was hanging up his hat when he noticed a new file folder on his desk. He crossed behind the desk, flipping open the cover of the folder as he began to take off his jacket, then stopped in mid-motion.

Steve, at the coffee table outside the inner office door, filling a mug, noticed his partner's unusual posture and poked his head in the door. "Something wrong?"

Mike glanced up quickly, looking slightly stunned. "Oh, ah, no, at least…I hope not." He resumed taking off his jacket. "I asked Johnson to get the list of phone calls from the hotel and identify any numbers for us, if he had the time." He picked up a couple of sheets of paper from the folder and, crossing to the coat rack to hang up his jacket, held them up.

"Now, I don't have my glasses on," he said quietly, reaching with his free hand to slip the black-framed reading glasses from his inside jacket pocket, "but does that say what I think it says." He handed the pages to his partner.

With a frown, Steve took the sheets, his eyes quickly scanning down to the hand-written names beside the typed phone numbers. He froze momentarily then handed the first page back to Mike, who had put on his glasses.

Mike slumped against the doorframe and dropped his head, closing his eyes. "Son of a bitch," he whispered, opening his eyes and glancing down at the paper in his hand once again, hoping what he had just read had possibly been a mistake.

But there they were. In blue ballpoint ink beside at least half the numbers were the colourful 'stage names' of well-known local prostitutes.


	5. Chapter 5

Steve put one mug of coffee on the far side of the desk then sat in the second chair, leaning forward slightly, cradling his own cup in both hands.

Mike glanced at the mug then up at his partner. "Thanks, buddy boy," he said quietly, picking it up and taking a sip.

"So, how do you think this," Steve gestured vaguely at the pages in the file folder on the desk, "jibes with what we learned about Bennett up in McKinleyville?"

Mike leaned back and shook his head. "I don't know, I just don't know. From everything we heard from his wife and everybody else, this is just not something he would do. It doesn't make any sense."

"Well, you know what they say, right? Everybody has a secret inner life."

"Oh, that's what they say, is it?" Mike asked lightly, a slight smile playing across his lips. "What's your inner life, if I dare ask?"

"Mike, Mike, tch tch tch," Steve grinned, leaning back and slouching in the chair, coffee cup still in hand, "they call it a _secret_ inner life for a reason."

"Yeah, well, maybe it's best you don't tell me about it anyway," the older man countered with a chuckle, then he took a deep breath and his expression sobered. "Well, it's too early to start tracking any of these 'ladies' down. Why don't we head back over to the hotel? I want to talk to the manager again, and I also want to talk to whoever was on desk duty that night. We need to find out if Bennett did his 'entertaining' in the hotel or somewhere else?"

"That sounds good," Steve said, standing.

"You know, Steve, I really hope we're wrong about this. I hope this is all some big mistake, because I really don't want to have to go back to his widow and tell her he wasn't the man she thought he was."

# # # # #

"So you said Mr. Bennett was a regular here. How often did you say he came?"

"Oh, I'd say about two or three times a year," Baker said from behind the large wooden desk in his office. "We have a lot of regulars, being for the most part an efficiency hotel, you know. Mr. Bennett has been staying with us for close to ten years now."

"So your staff knows him pretty well?" Mike asked. He and Steve were seated in two large leather armchairs opposite the desk.

"Well, as well as we can know any guest. Mr. Bennett was never a bother, never complained about anything."

"Mr. Baker," Steve said, leaning forward slightly, "do you ever remember hearing about, or seeing for yourself, Mr. Bennett…entertaining women in his room?"

"Women?" Baker reiterated tentatively, looking from one detective to the other.

"Prostitutes," Mike stated flatly and watched as the hotel manger's eyes flew open.

"Oh, my, no, never," Baker stammered, flustered. "Lots of our other guests have, um, 'entertained' but I never saw any of that behavior with Mr. Bennett. Never."

Mike glanced at Steve as he began to stand. "Mr. Baker, we'd like to talk to your employees now, if we could."

"Oh, of course, of course," Baker got to his feet, "I asked the night duty staff and a couple of others who had the most contact with Mr. Bennett to come in, like you requested. They're in one of our conference rooms. Is that okay?"

"Sure, that'll be perfect."

# # # # #

Mike was standing near the door of the conference room; Steve was perched on the corner of the credenza nearby, holding a clipboard. Six pairs of eyes were following their every move.

"So Mr. Baker tells us that you are the folks who had the most interation with Mr. Bennett. Is that true?" Mike asked affably, and the six exchanged quick looks before nodding enthusiastically.

Steve looked down at the clipboard. "So we have here Mr. Mendoza and Mr. Kennedy," the two middle-aged uniformed bellhops nodded, "Mrs. Sanchez and Miss Wong," nods from the two chambermaids, "Mr. Downey," a nod from the night manager, "and Mr. Patel." The young South Asian room service waiter bobbed his head with a "Yes, sir."

"So you all had contact with Mr. Bennett many times in the course of his stays with you, is that right?"

Everybody nodded again, with a couple more "Yes, sir"'s thrown in.

"So, who was on duty the night he was murdered?" Steve asked, and four hands shot up: Mendoza, Kennedy, Downey and Patel.

"Okay, I'll start with you, Mr. Downey," Mike said with a smile, facing the night manager. "Do you remember anything out of the ordinary that night? Anything at all. It doesn't have to do with Mr. Bennett, just anything that stands out in your mind from that night, anywhere in the hotel."

Downey seemed to think about it, frowning slightly, then shook his head. "I'm sorry, Lieutenant, there's nothing. It was a quiet night. Of course we didn't find out about Mr. Bennett until the next morning, but no, nothing, I'm sorry."

"That's okay," Mike reassured him, then turned his attention to the bellhops. "How about you guys? Do you remember anything? Did you see him at all that night?"

Mendoza glanced at his colleague then back to Mike. "No, sir. Like Mr. Downey said, it was a very quiet night. I did see Mr. Bennett come in after his meeting, around 6 pm I guess it was, and he was complaining, good-naturedly of course, about how hot is was that day. He said it didn't get too hot up where he was from and he was sure glad we had air-conditioning in the rooms."

"He didn't seem upset about anything, or troubled in any way?" Steve asked, after he and Mike shared a look.

Mendoza shook his head. "No, sir, he was the same friendly guy he always was. He was one of the nice guys, you know, the kind of guy you didn't mind doing favors for, you know what I mean?"

"What to you mean 'favors'?" Mike asked, successfully keeping the enthusiasm out of his voice.

"Oh, you know, getting him cigarettes when the store was closed or an extra pillow or two for the bed, that kinda thing."

Steve could see Mike slump slightly; this was not the type of 'favour' he'd been hoping to hear about.

"Ladies," Mike said after a few seconds silence, "was there anything about Mr. Bennett that you found odd or disturbing?"

The two young women looked at each other, brows furrowed. "Disturbing?" Mrs. Sanchez asked with a heavy accent.

"Well, ah," Mike looked down with a quiet laugh, trying to choose just the right words, "did you ever find any evidence in his room that he had had, shall we say, a lady visitor?" He finished the question by looking directly at them.

Wide-eyed, Sanchez and Wong looked at each other, blushed and giggled, then turned back to the lieutenant, who waited patiently. "Oh no, sir," said the young Chinese girl with a shake of her head, "not in Mr. Bennett's room. In some of the other rooms, yes, but never in Mr. Bennett's room."

"Never," echoed Sanchez, shaking her head as well.

"Mr. Patel." Mike's eyes settled on the maroon-and-black jacketed room service waiter. "How many times during Mr. Bennett's most recent stay did he order from room service?"

"Only twice, sir, when I was on duty. He liked to make his own meals most of the time."

"All right, do you remember what he ordered by any chance? I know you probably deliver a lot of meals –"

"Not a problem, Lieutenant, I have a really good memory. No, both times he ordered our spaghetti. He really liked it, said it was his favorite."

Mike smiled and nodded, and the young man beamed with pride. "And do you remember if you served him a single meal… what I mean is, was there only enough spaghetti for one person or could two people have made a meal of it?"

"No, sir, there was only enough for one, and besides, I never saw anyone else in Mr. Bennett's room, not this recent stay or since I started working here two years ago."

With a heavy sigh and nod of thanks, Mike turned his frustrated gaze back on the night manager. "So, Mr. Downey, there was never a complaint about Mr. Bennett from any of the other guests, excessive noise, anything like that?"

Downey shook his head. "Sorry, sir, nothing. If anyone could be called a model guest, it was Mr. Bennett. What happened to him has shaken everyone."

Mike glanced at Steve, raising his eyebrows and shrugging. Steve shook his head and smiled, then stood up. "Okay, thank you, ladies and gentlemen, sorry to call you all in on your time off."

As the six began to stand, Kennedy said, "That's okay, anything for Mr. Bennett, really. We all liked him a lot and we're gonna miss him, that's for sure."

As the hotel employees left the conference room, Mike turned to his partner, reaching into his inside jacket pocket and taking out the two sheets of paper with the phone numbers. "Well, let's go talk to the 'ladies', shall we? See if any of them can tell us about Mr. Bennett."

# # # # #

"So Bobby Caine over in Vice said that two of these ladies could be found hanging around here most afternoons," Steve explained as he slowed the car on a side street in North Beach. As he braked, he looked down at the paper on the seat beside him. "There should be a 'Diamond Lil' and a 'Susie Q' in the neighborhood," he continued with a sly grin as he glanced sideways at his partner.

Mike picked up the paper and looked at it. "Original names." His voice dripped with sarcasm. "Five'll get you ten this 'Diamond Lil' doesn't look anything at all like Mae West," he added dryly and Steve laughed.

Sliding the keys out of the ignition, Steve opened the door and started to get out. "I, ah, I got this, Mike, you just stay here and catch up on your beauty sleep," he said with a chuckle as he shut the door and started across the street.

Smiling with bemused affection, Mike watched his young partner, then took out his glasses and put them on, perusing the sheets of names and numbers once more. When he looked up again, he saw Steve approach a pretty young blond and flash the patented million dollar smile that seemed to open every door he needed to access. The smile he received in return quickly disappeared when he opened the small leather case to reveal his gold star. The blond began to turn away but he grabbed her arm gently to restrain her, and within seconds she relaxed and he let her go.

'Way to go, buddy boy!' thought Mike as he chuckled, taking off his glasses and putting them back in his pocket. He got out of the car and leaned against the fender in the bright afternoon sunshine, crossing his arms and smiling softly.

The blond nodded over her shoulder, and Steve looked up the block. He flashed another smile at the blond, who turned and walked out of Mike's field of vision. Steve glanced over at the car, registering a split second of surprise seeing his partner leaning against the fender watching him, then he grinned and bobbed his eyebrows.

Seconds later, the blond came back into view, with two statuesque beauties in tow, a brunette and a redhead. The blond said something to Steve, leaned in to give him a quick kiss on the cheek then, with a sultry backwards glance, continued up the alley and out of sight.

Steve watched her go, then turned his attention to the two women who almost seemed to tower over him.

Mike laughed, clearing his throat and looking down, then biting his lip as he looked up once more at his momentarily disconcerted colleague.

Steve pulled the photo of John Bennett from his inside jacket pocket and showed it to both women. They studied it, then looked back up at him and shook their heads. He asked them something else but again, two shaken heads. Steve sighed heavily and looked away briefly, putting the photo back in his pocket.

"Okay, ladies, well, thank you very much," Mike heard him say as Steve stepped off the curb and started back towards the LTD. As he got closer to Mike, he shook his head. He was almost at the drivers side door when he heard the brunette say, "Hi, Mike," and looked up to see her walking past his partner, close enough to reach out and gently run her forefinger along his jawline. Mike didn't move.

With a lascivious wink, the brunette turned and strode away, a throaty laugh trailing in her wake. Mike pushed himself away from the car and turned to the passenger side door, catching his partner's stunned expression, and with a facial shrug and a suggestive chuckle got back into the car.


	6. Chapter 6

Steve was sitting behind the wheel. The key was in the ignition but he had yet to turn the engine on. He was staring at his partner, who in turn was looking out the side window, waiting.

"So when were you going to tell me?" asked the younger man quietly.

Mike softly cleared his throat and glanced briefly across the front seat. "Uh, tell you what?"

Steve snorted. "Oh, I don't know, maybe that you're, you know, on a first-name basis with a hooker?"

"Oh, that?"

"Yeah…that. Is that your 'secret inner life'?" Steve asked with a dirty chuckle.

Mike smiled enigmatically. "Our professional lives have crossed paths a number of times over the years – and she's older than she looks, just so you know." As Steve's eyebrows shot up, Mike snorted, "My profession, not hers. And her real name is Agnes, by the way, not Susie."

"Unh-hunh," Steve nodded, reaching for the key and turning it.

"Just get me back to the office, then I want you to head out again and see if you can locate some of the other girls on this list." Mike glanced down at the papers on the seat and his mood sobered. "Maybe he struck out with the first few and was working his way down some list somewhere. You might get lucky with the last one."

As Steve shifted into Drive and pulled away from the curb, the radio crackled to life. "Inspectors 8-1."

Mike snagged the mic and pushed the button. "Inspectors 8-1."

"Lieutenant, you received a call from a Mr. Baker, he's the –"

"Yeah, I know who he is," Mike interrupted the dispatcher. "What did he want?"

"He says he found something you might be interested in."

Mike glanced at his partner. "10-4." He hung up the mic. "Change of plans, buddy boy."

# # # # #

"I'm sorry, Lieutenant, but this wasn't brought to my attention until this morning. I had no idea it happened and the people that did know, well, they didn't think it was all that important. I'm –"

"That's okay, Mr. Baker," Mike assured the hotelier as the three men crossed the lobby. "What exactly are you talking about?"

Baker handed the taller man a sheet of paper. "That's a maintenance report. It seems there was a problem in Mr. Bennett's room that night and Gary, our night maintenance man, went up there to fix the TV."

Mike had put his glasses on and was studying the form in his hand, Steve looking over his shoulder. "8:51 pm. That's fits in with what Bernie said," he mumbled and Steve nodded. "Mr. Baker, can we speak to your maintenance man?"

"Oh, Gary has today off but he'll be in tomorrow at 4 in the afternoon to start his shift."

"I'd really like to talk to him before then. Could you give us his telephone number and maybe his home address, if you have it?"

"Of course, I'll go get it right now." Baker disappeared across the lobby towards his office.

Mike turned to his partner. "Before we talk to this maintenance guy, I want to run him through R&I, see if he has anything we need to be aware of before we start talking to him."

"Sounds good. I'll drop you off at the office and then head back to North Beach and we can compare notes later."

# # # # #

It was shortly after 6 pm when a weary Steve Keller dragged himself into the Homicide squadroom. Mike was on the phone in his office, so the inspector took off his jacket, slung it over the back of his chair and then dropped into it himself, tossing his notebook on the desk.

When he heard Mike end the conversation and hang up, he got to his feet and crossed to the inner office door, leaning against the frame. "I got bupkis. I found all but two of the ladies on the list and every one of them swears to God they've never seen or heard about our Mr. Bennett."

"And you believe them?"

Sighing, Steve entered the room, slumping into the second chair and running his hands through his hair. "Yeah, yeah, I do. I mean, I don't think they have any reason to lie to us, do you?"

Mike shook his head, picking up his glasses from the desk and putting them on.

"So, did _you_ get anything?" Steve asked with a sigh, leaning forward.

With a quick smile, Mike picked up a piece of paper with a small colour photograph paper-clipped to it, turned it around and dropped it on the desk in front of his partner. "Meet Gary Edward Scott, night maintenance man for The Harrington Hotel. It seems that Mr. Scott is not as squeaky clean as our Mr. Bennett appears to be."

As Steve's eyebrows rose, Mike continued. "Mr. Scott has served time - for attempted rape and for assault. He kicked a man senseless, put him in the hospital for a couple of months. It seems 'night maintenance man' at a hotel is the only job he could manage to land. He's been there for six months. No complaints so far, but…" He let the sentence hang.

"My, my, my," said Steve under his breath, scanning the report, paying particular attention to the hard-looking crew cut visage that stared out at him from the photograph. "So, when do you want to talk to him?"

"Well, I'm thinking he might be a little more forthcoming if we talk to him at his place of business. It might make him more… conducive to coming clean about what happened in Bennett's room that night, if, indeed, anything actually did happen. I don't want to jump to conclusions about this guy before we even find out what's what. Who knows? He might have just fixed the TV."

"That's true." Steve took a deep breath and slowly released it. "So, what, you want to call it a night or what?"

Mike chuckled and shook his head. "As much as I'd like to, buddy boy, we still have those neighbors to interview. What say we grab a bite to eat then head over to the hotel again, get that out of the way?"

With a resigned sigh, Steve got to his feet. "Why not? We don't really need sleep, do we?" he chuckled.

Sighing himself, Mike got up and crossed to the coat rack, picking up his hat and jacket. "I know, I know," he growled congenially to his young partner, "this is something we should be delegating, but until the city gets their budget figured out, you know we're not hiring or promoting."

# # # # #

The door opened on a heavy-set man about his own age and his own height. Steve held up his star and I.D. "Hi, I'm Inspector Keller, San Francisco Homicide. I'd like to ask you a few questions about what happened the other night with your neighbor next door," he explained, gesturing to his left.

"Oh, ah, the guy that died?"

"Yes, if you don't mind?"

"No, no, not at all." The hotel guest stepped back from the door, allowing the cop to enter. Before crossing the threshold, Steve glanced down the hall. Mike was standing in the doorway of the room on the other side of the 'murder room', but Steve couldn't see who he was talking to.

The balding man closed the door as Steve stepped past him. The cop turned. "And you are…?" he asked amiably.

"Oh, ah, Jerry Halladay."

Steve took out his notebook and a pen. He started writing. "So, Mr. Halladay, I believe you're staying here with a Mr. Armitage?"

"That's right?"

"And you're electricians?"

"Yes, sir. We're under contract here; we're working on that new office tower going up over on Powell."

"And how long have you been staying here at the hotel?"

"Oh, jeez, it's gotta be about six weeks now. It's a three-month contract. You see, we worked on 44 Montgomery when it was goin' up several years ago and they liked what we did and hired us back when they started working on this new building."

"And who is _they_?"

"Oh, ah, that would be Woods Electrical. They have the contracts for most of the skyscrapers being built in this city."

Steve paused as he finished writing a note. "So, ah, Mr. Halladay, a couple of nights ago, were you and Mr. Armitage here in your room?"

"Yeah, uh-hunh."

"Do you remember hearing anything from the room next door, anything out of the ordinary?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, any loud noises, the sounds of someone fighting or yelling, anything like that?"

"Jeez, no. And I'm sure we would've heard something; these walls are like paper. I mean, we can hear people coughin' through these walls, so somethin' like that…" He shrugged.

"Did you know Mr. Bennett?"

The t-shirted man looked blank.

"The man in the next room, the man who was killed?"

"Oh, no, no. I mean, we'd pass him in the hall occasionally but we never talked to him. Well, at least I didn't, I don't know about Rolly – oh, that's Mr. Armitage."

Steve nodded and snapped his notebook shut. "Okay, well, thank you, Mr. Halladay, you've been a big help." With a resigned sigh, he started for the door. Halladay beat him to it and opened the door. As Steve stepped into the corridor, he turned back. "If you or Mr. Armitage remember anything, would you mind giving me a call?" he asked, handing the electrician one of his business cards.

Halladay took the card and studied it briefly. "Will do. I sure hope you guys find who did this. It's kinda scary, you know, a murder right next door."

With a nod and a half-smile, Steve turned and started down in the corridor. Mike was nowhere to be seen. Steve glanced at his watch – 8:52. Wearily, he leaned against the wall, working the kinks out of his stiff neck. Down the hall he heard a door open and Mike walked into the corridor.

The senior partner pocketed his notebook as he sauntered down the hall. "Anything?" he asked, and Steve could hear the exhaustion in his voice once again.

Steve pushed away from the wall. "Nothing. They didn't hear a thing, and the guy I talked to said these walls are paper thin, so…"

Mike sighed. "Yeah, me too…" With a tired sigh, he looked at his watch. "Well, I think we've done all we can for today. What we need is a good night's sleep so we can put fresh minds onto this tomorrow morning." He loosened his tie and undid his collar button. "What do you say?"

"You don't have to ask me twice," Steve said with a grin, slapping Mike's arm as he started down the corridor. He glanced back with a sly smile and growled, "Agnes…"

Laughing, Mike caught up with him and slipped an arm around his shoulders as they walked towards the elevator.


	7. Chapter 7

"Okay, let's go over everything we've got so far, which, admittedly, isn't a hell of a lot." Glasses on and shirtsleeves rolled up, Mike stared down at the papers and photographs that littered the top of his desk.

With a commiserating chuckle, Steve smoothed his tie down as he leaned over the desk from his spot in the second chair. "Well, let's start with the victim – a 48-year-old paper salesman from upstate, pillar of the community and loyal family man – according to everyone who knows him, is married to him or worked with him."

"Yeah," Mike said slowly, staring at a picture of a smiling John Bennett and his wife.

"He comes to The City two or three times a year for business meetings, been doing it for years, and he always stays in an efficiency apartment at the Harrington Hotel. There, they've never had a problem with him - he's quiet, friendly, 'a model guest' to quote the night manager."

"Yeah," Mike said again, picking up the crime scene photo of Bennett's body. "Then how come he ends up on the floor of his room, stiff and cold and apparently beaten to death?" he mused quietly.

"Well, we know he got back to the hotel around 6 pm. There were dirty dishes in his kitchenette so from that we can assume that he cooked himself a meal – a pork chop and potatoes from what the lab boys say – then decided to sit down in front of the TV for the evening. He gets comfortable – he's obviously not expecting anyone as he's in his boxers and a t-shirt. He's got his cigarettes and at some point he goes into the kitchenette to make himself some popcorn, hence the half-filled bowl on the bed. There were a few beer bottles in the fridge but he hadn't opened one yet."

Mike looked up. "Then what? Something goes wrong with the TV, it goes all snowy or something, and he calls down to the front desk for someone to come up and fix it for him. At 8:51, Gary Edward Scott arrives at his door." He fished the mug shot of Scott from under a pile of other papers and dropped it on the centre of the table.

"Unh-hunh," nodded Steve. "Well, we know he must have fixed the TV 'cause it was working when they found Bennett the next morning. So, what? Does Scott go into the room, fix the TV and then beat Bennett to death? That doesn't make any sense. I mean, why? He didn't rob the place – those hundred dollar bills were still in Bennett's wallet."

"And why was Bennett lying on the floor facing the door? It's like he went down on his way _to_ the door, which had to have been after Scott left, right? … Unless Scott somehow saw the money and came back later to rob him? … Aw, this isn't making any sense, no sense at all!" Mike growled angrily. "We're grasping at straws here, buddy boy. We're missing something, I'm sure of it."

Steve sat back, shaking his head, equally frustrated. "I just don't think we have all the pieces yet, Mike – it's like trying to put a jigsaw puzzle together without all the pieces and without the box lid to tell you what the picture looks like."

Mike looked up at him and froze. After several seconds, he asked calmly, "A jigsaw puzzle?" He started to chuckle. "I hate those things, you know that? Helen and Jeannie always tried to get me interested in them and I just didn't see the point. They'd stay up all night sometimes and…" His voice trailed off and he rolled his eyes. "Okay, I know I'm getting tired when you can derail me so easily." He leaned over the desk again and stared at the jumble before him once more. "Okay, where were we?"

Steve chuckled, smiling affectionately. "Ah, nowhere really. Don't you have to go brief Rudy on our progress…or lack thereof?" he asked.

Mike glanced at his watch. "Oh jeez, you're right." He started to do up his collar button as he stood. "Do me a favor, will ya? I have a call in to Bennett's insurance agent, I got the number from his wife. I haven't heard back from him yet. Can you give him a call and see what he has for us?" He tossed his notebook closer to Steve. "The number's in there."

As he did up his tie and crossed to the coat rack for his jacket, he nodded back towards the desk. "We'll pick up where we left off when I get back – maybe one of us'll have a brainstorm before then and solve this damn thing."

# # # # #

"Well, that took a little longer than you were expecting," Steve said brightly as Mike walked back into the squad room, shucking off his jacket and crossing to his office.

"Yeah, we somehow got into a little…discussion about staffing," Mike chuckled softly. "You know all that frustration I've been bottling up lately? Well, I let it out."

"Ouch," Steve laughed, "how's Rudy doing?"

"Let's just say he can give as good as he takes," Mike grinned as he crossed around the desk to his chair and sat heavily. "So, any news from the insurance agent?"

"Ah, as a matter of fact, there was." Steve had followed Mike to the inner office door. He spun back to his desk, snagged his notebook then dropped into the second chair. Mike leaned forward in anticipation.

"It seems our Mr. Bennett has a substantial life insurance policy, of which his wife is sole beneficiary."

"Substantial? How substantial?"

"A hundred thousand dollars."

"And she's the sole beneficiary?"

Steve nodded, eyebrows raised.

Mike frowned, leaning back, and it was several long seconds before he spoke. "So you're thinking, what? His wife off'd him for the insurance money?"

"It's been known to happen before."

"And she hired someone to do it here, in The City, so she wouldn't be implicated?"

"Why not?"

Mike shook his head. "No. No, I don't believe it for a minute, Steve, not her." When the younger man opened his mouth, he plowed on, "You weren't there. This wasn't a woman faking her grief; she was absolutely devastated. It was real." He stopped and looked down, seeming to pull himself together. When he looked up again, his features had softened and his eyes were moist. "I've been there, Steve. Where she is right now. The circumstances were very different, but the emotions are just the same. This wasn't a woman putting on an act. This was a woman who just had the most important thing in her life torn from her forever. That's not something you go through voluntarily, believe me."

Their stares locked for several long seconds, then Steve smiled slightly and nodded. "Okay."

With a grateful nod in return, Mike blinked quickly several times and sat back, looking at his desktop once again. "So, what else have we got, that we can rule out in the next, oh," he looked at his watch, "hour and a half before we go meet Mr. Scott?"

"You still want to talk to him?"

"Why not? Just because _we_ can't figure out why he might want to beat another man to death, doesn't mean he didn't do it? I want to hear from him what went on that night, and if he didn't do it, well, maybe he saw something that'll help us figure it out."

# # # # #

They were walking across the lobby heading for the front desk when Baker came charging out of his office towards them. "Oh, Lieutenant, Lieutenant!" he called and they stopped, turning to face him. The hotelier had a sheet of paper in his hand and he was waving it frantically.

Mike smiled at the uncharacteristic lack of decorum. "Inspector Keller and I are here to interview Mr. Scott before his shift starts and –"

"Oh, that's fine with me," Baker interrupted the older cop, "but I've just found out something that I think is going to be very important to you." He held up the piece of paper and both detectives could see it was a very short list of telephone calls, much like the list they had received two days before. "I'm afraid there's been a terrible mistake, Lieutenant Stone," he got out in a rush. "It seems one of my desk clerks wrote down the wrong room number when I asked him to compile the list of phone calls. The list I gave you the other day was actually from the room one floor above." He handed the sheet of paper to Mike. "This is the real list of phone calls from Mr. Bennett's room."

Mike handed the paper to Steve as he fished his glasses out of his pocket, keeping his annoyed glare on the flustered manager. The younger man scanned the page quickly, almost unable to resist rolling his eyes.

As Mike tore his stare away from the manager and put on his glasses, Steve said quietly, "There're five calls here, all of them incoming, all the same number, with a 707 area code - that would be McKinleyville."

Mike snatched the paper out of his hand and looked at it. "His wife told me she was doing their quarterly tax return that night and he was helping her out."

"I'm really so terribly sorry," Baker said earnestly, "it really was just a clerical error. I hope you weren't inconvenienced by it."

Swallowing a frustrated grin, Steve looked away, laying a hand on his partner's forearm, trying to head off the explosion he knew would be coming. Feeling the warning touch, Mike froze and took a couple of steadying breaths. Under his hand, Steve could feel the taut muscles begin to relax.

Baker, a firm believer that discretion is the better part of valor, and a very good judge of character, took a step back and said quickly. "I'm sorry, gentlemen, but I have to get to a meeting. I just wanted to make sure you were aware of the mistake. Oh, and, ah, Gary is downstairs in the employee's locker room. You can get to it through that door over there." He pointed towards a nondescript wooden door at the far end of the lobby with an 'Employees Only' sign on it. Then he was gone.

Mike watched him go, his expression neutral. With a twinkle in his eye, Steve leaned towards his partner. "I think you scared the shit out of him."

Mike turned slowly towards his chuckling colleague, who was wandering towards the staff door. Then, shaking his head, Mike laughed and began to follow. "Well," he said, with a self-satisfied sigh, "at least we now know Mr. Bennett's 'inner life' had nothing to do with Susie or Lil." He stuffed the sheet of paper into his jacket pocket. "Come on," he said suddenly, picking up the pace, "I wanna hear what Mr. Scott has to tell us."


	8. Chapter 8

As modern, ornate and well-appointed as the lobby was, the lower floor of the Harrington Hotel was old, dark, damp and smelled of mold and fried food. The Employees Locker Room wasn't hard to find, and neither was Gary Edward Scott.

The big bullet-headed man was pulling a medium blue work shirt on over a dirty grey t-shirt when the two detectives entered the room. He glanced their way, froze momentarily, then closed his eyes briefly as he turned back to his locker and resumed doing up his shirt.

As he got closer, Mike pulled out his star. Before he could say anything, Scott growled, "I know. You're cops. What do you want?"

Mike stiffened for a beat then relaxed. "I'm Lieutenant Stone, this is Inspector Keller. We're from Homicide."

"Yeah, I figured you guys'd be getting around to me eventually." Scott tucked his shirt in and did up his pants.

"Oh, and why is that?" Mike asked with feigned interest as he slipped his shield back into his pants pocket.

"Because you found out I was in Bennett's room on the night he was killed. And I bet you also found out I'm an ex-con." He glanced up from the studied deliberateness of putting his street clothes into the locker then closing and locking it. "And I can put two and two together too." He finished with a smug glance towards the detectives.

"We're not here to accuse you of anything, Mr. Scott," Mike said with sincere sounding empathy. "We just want you, in your own words, to tell us what happened in Mr. Bennett's room on that night."

"Yeah, right," the ex-con growled sarcastically as he looked from one cop to the other.

"Look, ah," the younger detective said, taking a half step forward so he was beside his partner, "you know the routine. We can do this here, or we can –"

"Do this back at the station – yeah, I know." Scott looked Steve straight in the eye, and neither moved. Then, with a resigned and almost angry sigh, Scott dropped down onto the bench. "Ah, what the hell…"

Both detectives relaxed, resisting the urge to exchange relieved glances. Scott was a big man, bigger than Mike, and if he had decided to fight back, they would have been hard-pressed to restrain him.

"What d'ya want to know?"

Mike and Steve split up. Steve took a slight step back and leaned against the lockers. Mike put one foot up on the bench and leaned towards Scott. "We want to know, step by step, what happened from the moment you got to Bennett's door that night?"

"Yeah, so what do you want me to say when I get to the part about killing him?" Scott looked up at Mike, eyebrows raised in a question.

Both Mike and Steve froze, staring at the big man. Steve pushed away from the locker as Mike deliberately looked down at Scott's steel-toed workboots.

Scott face split into a grin. "Relax," he said with a gravelly chuckle, "that was a joke. You really think if I killed the guy, I just come out and tell you 'cause you asked so politely?"

Steve shook his head, smiling cryptically, and leaned back against the locker again. Mike's posture slumped and his loud sigh was laced with irritation, which, much to Steve's amusement and approval, he managed to keep out of his voice. "Just tell us, in your own words, what happened."

Scott glanced up at Mike once more and grinned, but his voice was even and almost deferential when he began to speak. "There isn't much to tell. I got the call just before 9, I guess it was, that his TV was acting up so I grabbed my tools and I went up there. He'd been sitting on the bed watching the tube, I guess, when all of a sudden it went all fuzzy and snowy. He said he was watching a movie and he really wanted to see how it ended."

"You'd run into Bennett before? You knew him?"

"Yeah, I'd been up there a couple of times in the past six months – like the last time he was here we were having trouble with his plumbing. I _knew_ the guy, if that's what you mean, but we weren't buds or anything, you know," he added sarcastically, "I mean, we didn't go out for beers or anything like that. He was a guest, for god sake."

Mike raised both hands placatingly. "Okay, okay, we get it," he said quietly. "So, what happened next?"

"What do you mean, what happened next? I fixed the TV – it was a blown tube – and when I left he was a happy man, he could see the end of the movie."

"How long were you in his room?" Steve asked, still leaning against the lockers.

"I don' know, ten minutes tops. Maybe not even that."

"Did you notice, was the air conditioner on?" Mike asked.

Scott hesitated for a split second, thinking. "No, it wasn't. I remember I had to unplug it to get to work on the TV – they were both plugged into the same outlet – and even in the short time I was there the room was starting to get a little warm. It was a hot night."

"Did you plug it in before you left the room?"

"I don' know, I don't remember. Why? Is that important?"

"We'll ask the questions, Mr. Scott," Mike said with a quick, conciliatory smile. "So, that was it, you just fixed the TV and left?" There was just enough ambivalence in Mike's voice to make the ex-con realize he wasn't being believed.

Scott glared up at him angrily then relaxed, regaining control. "Yeah, that's all that happened. I went up there, I did my job, and I came back down. What, you think I killed the guy just for the hell of it?" His voice and his body rose slightly as he stared at Mike, who didn't move.

Steve pushed himself away from the lockers again and moved close to his partner, taking his hands out of his pockets. Scott sat back down but continued to stare at Mike. "Do you remember hearing anything else going on on that floor? Maybe something in another room?"

Scott frowned slightly as Steve spoke, then blinked and looked down. Steve felt Mike relax.

"I don't know…" Scott began, shaking his head then he froze.

"What is it?" Mike asked.

"Yeah, wait a minute, there was something… yeah, the room next door, there was some yelling and laughing coming from the room next door. I remember it because Bennett said to me that he couldn't hear them when the TV was on 'cause he kept the volume up."

"Which room?" Steve asked.

Scott looked up at him. "The room on the other side of the wall the TV was on."

Steve leaned close to Mike's ear. "The electricians…" he whispered.

Mike nodded. "And that was all?" he asked Scott.

"Yeah, that was it. I fixed the TV and I got out of there."

Mike took his foot off the bench and glanced briefly at his partner. "Mr. Scott, just for the record, I'd like you to come in for a polygraph." He saw both Scott and Steve stiffen slightly.

"What? A polygraph…aw, come on, man," Scott began, anger in his voice as he stood up.

"We just want to eliminate you," Mike said in a slightly louder tone, hoping to shut the ex-con up. "Against my better judgment," he began with a chuckle and a half-smile, "I believe you, but we have to dot all our 'i's' and cross all our 't's'." He took a deep breath and looked the bigger man in the eye. "Mr. Scott, would you be willing to come down to police headquarters tomorrow morning to undergo a polygraph examination so we can eliminate you from our pool of suspects?" he asked with gracious formality.

Suddenly taken aback, Scott hesitated, meeting Mike's stare suspiciously. Then he nodded once and growled, "All right. What time do you need me there?"

Relaxing, and taking a quiet deep breath, Steve reached into his inside pocket for a business card. He handed it to Scott. "Nine o'clock at that address. Don't be late."

As Scott took the card, he said, "Hey, I, ah, I don' have a car and I don' make much money on this job. Can you guys spring for a cab there and back?"

Mike opened his mouth to answer but Steve cut him off. "Save the receipts and we'll reimburse you."

"That'll work," Scott grumbled, stuffing the card into his pants pocket. "I gotta start my shift, if you fellas don't mind." He pushed past them towards the door and picked up his tool box, leaving the room without a backward glance.

Mike turned to his partner with upraised eyebrows. "Okay, buddy boy, you're the one who's gonna be explaining to Rudy about reimbursing felons for cab rides."

Steve smiled and slapped his partner on the shoulder. "I'll do that if you tell me who our 'pool of suspects'are," he laughed.

# # # # #

Mike swallowed his mouthful of ginger ale then glanced across the table. "So, tell me again about those electricians in the room next door. You said they seemed on the up and up?"

Wiping the pizza grease from his chin with a napkin, Steve nodded. "Yeah, absolutely. I mean, I only spoke to one of them, Halladay his name was, but he was calm, polite, he seemed sincere… a really nice hard-working guy."

"What building are they working on?"

"That new office tower over on Powell. They're here for another five weeks at least, I think he said. I'll have to check my notes." He started to reach into his jacket pocket.

Mike waved him to stop. "That can wait," he said amiably. "But he didn't mention anything about them being a little rowdy on the night Bennett was killed?"

"Well, he probably didn't think anything of it. I mean, who would? If nobody complained, what's there to talk about?"

Mike nodded. "Yeah, I guess. And there weren't any noise complaints that night. Still, I'd like to know a little more. What say we finish up here and just head over to the construction site, maybe talk to their supervisor."

Steve grinned. "Dotting 'i's' and crossing 't's' again?"

Mike grinned back, picking up his slice of pizza to take another bite. "Yeah, something like that."

# # # # #

The two detectives had been cooling their heels for almost twenty minutes in the mobile construction office before the man they were waiting for was able to join them. Wearing a hard hat and heavy construction boots, the fit and tanned Matt Devereux looked to be in his early twenties but both cops knew he must be much older.

With a wide smile, he crossed the small office towards them as they stood, his hand out. "Matt Devereux," he said, shaking Mike's hand first.

"Lieutenant Stone."

"Inspector Keller," Steve introduced himself as they too shook hands.

"Well, fellas, what can I do for you? And what's this all about anyway? They said you were from Homicide?"

"That's right," said Mike, not wanting to get into details right away, "but we're just here to ask you about two of your employees, Misters Halladay and Armitage."

"Oh, Jerry and Rolly? Great guys, exceptional electricians. What do you want to know?"

"Well," Steve took over, "is there anything you can tell us about them personally, I mean, have you ever had any trouble with them?"

"Trouble?" Devereux asked quickly. "Come on, you're not thinking they had anything to do with a murder, do you? That's ludicrous." His instant defense of his men was impressive, and the cops exchanged a look.

"No, no," Mike said gently, trying to assuage the sudden tension. "We just want to know if there was anything out of the ordinary with them lately. Tuesday morning, to be precise."

"Tuesday morning?" Devereux asked, frowning as he looked from one cop to the other. "Is this about that guy who was killed in the hotel the other day?"

"Yes."

"The same hotel that Jerry and Rolly are staying in, right?"

Steve nodded, and both cops could see the construction foreman reconsider his earlier anger. "No, they got here on time, as far as I can remember. Nothing unusual."

"So they didn't mention anything about a fight in the hotel, or any kind of altercation?"

Devereux shook his head. "No, I heard them talking to some of the other guys over coffee that morning and I – " He stopped talking and froze, then his eyebrows shot up. "Wait a minute, now that I think about it, do you mean a gun going off in a rooming house?"


	9. Chapter 9

It was Mike and Steve's turn to freeze then they shared a glance. Mike swallowed. "A gun going off in a rooming house?" he echoed.

Devereux was nodding, his gaze far away as if he was trying to remember details.

Mike glanced at his partner, both of them now on full alert. "Not a rooming house. This guy was beaten to death in a hotel room."

Devereux shrugged. "No, sorry, I'm pretty sure they were talking about a rooming house. Nobody mentioned a hotel as far as I can remember."

Mike looked down. Steve could feel the frustration emanating from the older man.

"Okay, Mr. Devereux, thanks a lot." Mike took a business card from his jacket pocket. "Here's my number. If you think of anything else, anything at all, please give me a call."

Devereux glanced at the card. "Thanks, I will. Sorry I couldn't be more help. Listen, ah, I gotta get back out there – it's a busy day for us. Anything else I can do you for guys?"

Steve smiled. "No, thanks, we're good. Thanks for your time."

They shook hands again before the foreman left the trailer. Steve turned to his partner. "Man, that was close," he said with an ironic smile.

Mike was staring into space, his arms crossed and his head down. "I don't know, buddy boy, I think we're onto something here." When he looked up, there was a renewed vigor in his body language. "I want to find out more about our electricians."

# # # # #

The phone to his ear, Steve looked up from his desk as Mike walked into the office. He put a hand over the mouthpiece and lowered the receiver. "Where have you been all morning? I've been trying to get a hold of you." On Mike's glance at the receiver, he hefted it slightly in his hand. "I'm on hold," he explained.

Mike crossed to his office, putting his hat and jacket on the rack and taking his notebook out of his jacket pocket. "I had a little hunch and thought I'd follow up on it. What've you got?"

"I'm on hold with the Night Watch Commander – I'm trying to find out if there've been any complaints, anytime or anywhere, made against either Halladay or Armitage since they've been here recently, or back when they were here working on 44 Montgomery. He's being a little stroppy with me – he doesn't want to divert manpower into digging through some old records, and I told him I was gonna sic you on him if he didn't."

"Oh, thanks," Mike replied dryly. "Stroppy?"

"Sorry," Steve chuckled, "I used to date a girl from England – she used that word a lot. Anyway, he's trying to find someone to do it and he wants me to wait on the line till he finds that someone so I can give _them_ the information first hand. I think it's his way of punishing me for the 'request'. What did you get?"

"I," said Mike with self-satisfied smile, "got a third electrician." He turned from the door and crossed to his chair, grinning at his partner through the glass walls as he unsnapped the .38 from his belt and put it in the top desk drawer before he sat.

Steve's brow furrowed and he glanced at the receiver in his hand. With a quick headshake, he hung the phone up, got to his feet and entered the inner office, leaning over the desk to face his cat-that-ate-the-canary grinning partner. "A third electrician?" he asked softly.

Staring at the younger man with upraised brows, Mike nodded, tossing his notebook on the desk and flipping it open. "There was a third electrician in their room on Monday night."

Smiling with barely contained curiosity, Steve held his tie in place as he sat slowly. "How the hell did you find that out?"

Mike had taken his glasses out and put them on, rifling through his notebook to find his latest entry. "I had a hunch."

"That must have been some hunch."

Mike chuckled and looked up. "After we finished up with Devereux yesterday, I just couldn't get what he told us out of my mind. You know, the bit about the 'gun going off in a rooming house'? And I kept thinking, well, what if Devereux didn't get the story quite right. Maybe it _wasn't_ a rooming house; maybe it _was_ a hotel? Nobody's gonna admit to _that_ , right? But something similar might make for a good tale when you're sitting around with a bunch of guys sharing 'war stories'. And a lot of these 'war stories' have a little grain of truth in them, don't they?"

Steve nodded.

"Well, I was also thinking about what you said, about how the electrician you interviewed seemed to be a stand-up guy, and Devereux backed that up. But Scott said he heard yelling and laughing in that room and I thought, hunh, maybe there was more than just two guys in there that night. You still with me?" he asked with a chuckle.

Steve leaned back in the chair and crossed his arms. "I'm listening."

Pulling out the bottom drawer of his desk and putting his right foot on it, Mike tilted his chair back, his notebook in one hand. "So this morning, I gave Mr. Kennedy a call – you remember that bellhop we interviewed a couple of days ago? And I asked him if he remembered if Halladay and Armitage had any visitors that night. And he said he remembered someone going up to their room with them when they got back from work that day.

"Of course nobody thought anything about it at the time or afterwards, and why would they? The murder didn't happen in _their_ room. Anyway, I got a pretty good description of the guy from Kennedy; seems he's been a bit of a regular."

Mike glanced up from his notebook and grinned, and Steve smiled back, shaking his head with a quiet laugh. "You did all that this morning?"

"Oh, I did more than that," Mike chuckled. "I dropped by the construction site on the way here and talked to Devereux again. I gave him the description and he gave me a name." He glanced down at his notebook. "Robert Linden. Been working on the same Powell building since they started. And there's a couple of other things Devereux told me about him – he has a temper, and he just loves his guns."

Mike finished with a flourish then just sat there, grinning and staring across the desk at his quiet partner. Steve tilted the chair forward, looked down, laughed, then looked back up. "What can I say? That's, ah… You did all that this morning?" he repeated.

Mike's head bobbed up and down furiously. "Yep. I haven't even had breakfast yet. But I am functioning on about eight cups of coffee right now." He held his right hand level in front of his face and stared at it. "Not bad," he chuckled, "the shaking's gone away."

"Adrenaline or caffeine?" Steve asked with a laugh.

"I'm not sure." He dropped his hand, shaking his head and grinning. "Oh, ah," he said suddenly, taking his foot off the drawer and leaning forward, "I almost forgot. Did our Mr. Scott come in for his polygraph this morning?"

Still smiling, Steve nodded. "Oh yeah. _I_ was here when he arrived. And he was on time, too."

"And?"

"And… he passed, so I let him leave."

"I kinda thought he would," Mike said, shrugging. "I did tell him I believed him. Just had to make sure."

Steve gestured at his partner's notebook. "So, what do you want to do with all this…new information?"

Mike looked down at the notebook and snorted a quick laugh. "Yeah. Ah, well, I gave that some thought on the way here."

"Of course you did," Steve said under his breath, still stunned at the swift turn of events.

"What was that?"

"Nothing, nothing," Steve answered quickly, shaking his head, trying to suppress a grin. "So what's your plan?"

"Well, the first thing I want to do is eat before I pass out," he chuckled, "and then I want to find out all we can about this Robert Linden before we even begin to think about bringing him in to talk to him and the other two."

Getting to his feet, Steve leaned across the desk slightly. "Breakfast is on me. I've gotta have you at a hundred percent if I'm gonna sic you on that Watch Commander, now that I gotta add a third name to that list. Come on, let's go."

# # # # #

"It's amazing what a little flattery and the promise of a bottle of scotch'll do," Mike said quietly to his seated partner as he passed by the inspector's desk on the way to his office. Steve looked up from the stack of photos he was poring over as the older man stopped at his office door to hang up his jacket and hat. "Jack'll be calling you shortly to get the names of the three electricians we want checked out."

Nodding, Steve got up from his desk with the photos and followed his partner into his office. As Mike stored his revolver in his top drawer, he said warmly, "Hey ah, thanks again for breakfast, that really hit the spot."

"You're welcome," the younger man replied almost absent-mindedly as he turned the photos in his hand around and dropped them on the desk facing Mike. "I've been going over these again and there's something that's bugging me. I want to run it past you."

Mike glanced up from the photos to his partner, who was looking at the desk with a frown. "Okay, shoot. What have you got?" he said, rubbing his hands together as he sat.

Remaining standing, Steve moved the top 8x10 off of the one below and set them side-by-side. The first one was a longshot of Bennett's body, lying facedown on the carpet with his hands up by his shoulders. The second was a close-up of his left hand, the burned-out half-cigarette between his middle fingers. Mike looked up questioningly.

"You've never been a smoker, right?" Steve asked, and Mike shook his head. "Well, smokers tend to keep their cigarettes in the hand they favor, unless they're doing something like writing and even then, they usually stop writing to take a drag. In other words, a right-hander seldom holds their smoke with their opposite hand, at least not for very long."

Mike glanced down at the photos. "And you're thinking that Bennett was right-handed?"

Steve pointed at Bennett's right hand visible in the first photo. "Now, I can't be a hundred percent sure, but those look like nicotine stains on his right fingers, don't you think?"

Mike had slipped his glasses on and picked up the photo to take a closer look. "You may be right about that, buddy boy. We can check with Bernie. And I'm pretty sure I asked his wife about which hand he favored – I'll check my notes." He put the photo down, took off his glasses and looked up at his partner. "So what's going through your mind?"

With a smile, Steve sat down and leaned across the desk. "I've been doing a little thinking myself. What if, say, the electricians were getting a little loud in their room, so much so that Bennett was having trouble hearing his movie, and he maybe, I don't know, pounded on the wall to shut them up. And maybe one of the electricians, the one we don't know much about, Linden, the one with the temper, he takes exception to this and goes next door to confront Bennett."

Mike had leaned back with a small smile. "Keep going, I'm listening."

"Bennett's sitting on the bed, having a smoke. He hears the pounding on his door and he gets up to open it, and as he walks to the door he transfers the cigarette from his right hand to his left so he can open the door – the knob's on the right side, right? So now he's face to face with Linden at the doorway."

Steve looked at Mike in anticipation but after a few seconds of silence, the senior partner ventured, "So then what? I mean, you got Linden at the door but… Bennett wasn't shot to death, he was beaten."

"Yeah, I know," Steve agreed reluctantly, "that's where my theory kinda falls apart."

"No, no," Mike said encouragingly, leaning over the desk, "I like where this is going, we just have to explore it some more. So what do you think? They're face to face in the doorway and Linden hauls off and kicks Bennett in the crotch, and he goes down. I mean, I know what Bernie said; that it had to have been one hell of a kick to lacerate his scrotum and reverberate all the way up to his heart and kill him."

"Linden _was_ wearing steel-toed boots if he went there right from work," Steve offered, "and maybe he's as big as Scott."

Mike nodded with a facial shrug. "Yeah, that's possible." He paused. "But I still can't figure out how Bennett ended up face down, and how the cigarette was still in his hand."

"Yeah, I know, I can't get past that too." Steve hesitated then met his partner's eyes again. "And then there's what Devereux said about Linden liking his guns. I think we have to take that into consideration."

"Sure, but why? I mean, there's no evidence that a gun was ever fired in Bennett's room, right?" Mike leaned back and growled. "God damn it, when are we gonna catch a break in this case?!" He rubbed his hands over his face, laughing slightly, then slapped his hands on the desk. "I tell you what we're gonna do. We're gonna go back over to that hotel. I want to go over every inch of that room and see if we've missed anything."

"But Mike, they've probably cleaned that room a couple of times since we released it. What's there to find?"

"I don't know, but I'm not just gonna sit around here all day waiting for Jack to get back to us with those background checks." Mike stood up and took the .38 out of the drawer, snapping it onto his belt then crossed around the desk to the coat rack. "Come on, let's go. Leave that list of the names of the electricians with Norm; he can deal with Jack. And bring all those photos with you."


	10. Chapter 10

Mike was standing in the centre of the hotel room with two 8x10's in his hands. Steve was near the nightstand beside the bed with the folder of the other photos. Baker was hovering near the door.

"If you don't need me right now, Lieutenant, there's a staff meeting I need to attend," the hotelier said hopefully, still not comfortable in the lieutenant's presence after the debacle with the telephone calls. "You gentlemen can just take your time and let my staff know when you're finished."

Mike continued to stare at the photos, carrying on the pretense of being perturbed, so Steve took the lead. "That's fine, Mr. Baker. Thanks for letting us have a look around."

"Well, we haven't rented this room out since, well, since the 'incident', so it's not a problem." He looked from Steve to Mike, who still didn't respond. "I'll, ah, I'll just be going…." He slipped out the door and disappeared down the corridor, shutting the door behind him.

Mike started to chuckle and looked up at his partner. Grinning wryly, Steve shook his head. "Are you ever going to let him off the hook? The poor guy is terrified of you."

"Good," Mike replied amiably, "but don't worry, I'll relent when we finally put this all to bed and we don't need anything else from him." He glanced back at the photos. "So, what do you think? What if Linden did come to the door here with a gun? And if he took a shot at Bennett, the bullet would have to be somewhere in that wall, wouldn't it?" he conjectured, gesturing towards the outside wall.

"Well, if he did, he didn't hit the window, that's for sure. Let's check out the wall." Steve dropped the file of photos on the bed and both men approached the far wall.

After a couple of minutes of careful study, Mike asked, "See anything, buddy boy?"

The younger man shook his head. "Nope."

With a frustrated sigh, Mike got down on his hands and knees. Steve, after giving him a quick surprised look, did the same. They checked around the baseboards and under the sill of the window. Still nothing.

Mike started to crawl deeper into the room, carefully examining the carpet, then the desk and chair and even the TV stand. Steve got to his feet and crossed to the side of the bed nearest the door, pulling out the sheets and tossing them onto the bed so he could examine more carefully the mattress and box spring for any telltale sign of a hole big enough to be caused by a bullet.

Closer to the door, Mike was just about to get to his feet when he froze, staring at the wall about halfway between the TV stand and the door. He sat back slightly and pointed. "What's that, do you think?"

Steve turned to see his partner pointing at a blemish on the wall about the size of a tennis ball. It had recently been repaired. "Looks like the doorknob hit the wall and put a dent in it."

Mike looked at the door and then back to the wall. "I don't think so," he said softly as he stood up and walked to the door. He opened it all the way, pushing it up against the wall. The doorknob and the repaired hole were about three inches apart. "What made that, I wonder?" he mumbled, almost to himself. He stared at it for a few more seconds then looked towards the bed. Suddenly he looked up at his partner. "Get Baker back up here. I want to get into the next room."

With a quick nod, Steve took one step towards the bedside phone then changed his mind and strode through the door and out into the hallway. He looked both ways, then disappeared to the right, returning several seconds later with a chambermaid in tow. It was Miss Wong.

"You remember Lieutenant Stone, right?" Steve asked amiably as they appeared in the doorway and she smiled and nodded.

Mike tipped his hat. "Miss Wong, nice to see you again. Ah, we need to get into the room next door," he explained, gesturing to his left. "Could you open it for us with your master key, please?"

She looked a bit flustered at first then smiled again. "Well, I really have to get permission from my supervisor before I can let anyone –"

"Miss Wong," Mike said genially, flashing that irresistible Stone smile, "it's really important to our investigation into Mr. Bennett's murder, and I'm sure Mr. Baker wouldn't mind if we went in there for just a few minutes. That's all it'll take, I promise."

She glanced uneasily from Mike to Steve then smiled again. "Of course, Lieutenant Stone, I can let you in." As she turned towards the door of the next room, Mike glanced at Steve and a quick grin passed between them.

Shaking his head and trying not to chuckle, Steve followed the maid to the door and as she opened it, he stepped ahead of her, entering the room and holding the door open for his partner to follow. Mike grabbed the doorknob as he crossed the threshold and started to close the door on her, saying cheerfully, "Thank you so very much, Miss Wong. We'll make sure to close this tight when we leave." And with that he shut the door, leaving her standing in the hallway, once more unsure if she had done the right thing.

The detectives looked around the surprisingly tidy room. "Not bad, for a couple of redneck electricians," Steve said with a smile.

"Cleaner than your place," Mike said quietly with a low chuckle, and glanced up at his partner from under his lowered brow.

After gracing his partner with a good-natured scowl, Steve glanced around again. "So, what are we looking for?"

Mike had put on his glasses and was bending forward, studying the wall between the TV stand and the wall. Slowly, he crouched and reached out, pointing a finger at a small round spot on the wall about three feet from the floor that was a slightly different colour from the wallpaper around it. "That," he said quietly.

Steve leaned forward and studied it as well.

"So, buddy boy," Mike continued, keeping his voice low, "would you say that's about the size of a .38?"

Steve looked at it closer. "Yes, I would think it is. But what's that?" he asked, almost touching the badly repaired hole. He brushed it lightly with his forefinger and it felt soft. A bit of whatever it was adhered to his finger and he brought it closer to give it a good look. It was a very pale blue. He brought his finger up to his nose and sniffed. His head recoiled slightly and he smiled. With a chuckle, he looked at Mike. "It's toothpaste."

Mike sat down where he had been crouching. With a smile and shaking his head, he whispered, "Son of a bitch, we got 'em."

Steve frowned. "What do you mean?"

With another quick shake of his head and scrambling to his feet, Mike nodded towards his partner and started for the door. "Let's get out of here. I don't want them to know we were in here, and I don't think Miss Wong is going to want to broadcast her 'indiscretion', so we're golden." He opened the door and stuck his head into the hallway, looking both ways. "The coast is clear. Let's go."

Safely back out into the corridor, Steve looked at the older man curiously. "Do you mind telling me what we have?"

"Think about it, you'll figure it out. But before I bet the farm on it, I want to talk to Bernie. Get our stuff from Bennett's room and let's get out of here."

# # # # #

"Bernie!" Mike almost yelled as he charged into the coroner's office, Steve trailing slightly behind. For once the pathologist wasn't bent over a corpse; he was at his desk filling out forms. But he jumped anyway, his pen skittering over the page.

"Ooo, sorry about that," Mike apologized as Bernie sighed heavily and turned slowly towards him, frowning. But, like most people, he found Mike's grin infectious.

"What can I do for you, Lieutenant?" he asked with a long-suffering chuckle.

"We need your help. Remember John Bennett, that paper salesman that was beaten to death in the Harrington Hotel last Monday night?"

"Of course."

"Well, we need to have another look at the x-rays you took."

"Now?" Bernie asked, managing in that one word to convey his extreme reluctance. "Mike, I've got about twelve death certificates to fill out in the next hour, and there're still two autopsies I have to oversee. I would like to get home sometime before tomorrow!"

Sitting on the edge of the desk and looking down at the coroner commiseratingly,

Mike said gently, "I know, I know, we're all short-staffed but, Bernie, this is really, really important. Our entire case could rest on this." He sat up straighter. "Steve 'n' I'll give you a hand. You sit there and work on those death certificates, and we'll dig up the file. You did file the x-rays, right?"

After a second or two of stunned silence, Bernie nodded.

"Good, good. So, in a filing cabinet, right?" Mike looked at him with a smile and upraised eyebrows.

"Yeah, that one over there," Bernie said slowly, gesturing vaguely towards the far wall.

Mike nodded with his head for Steve to go over to the cabinet. "And I'm assuming the files are in alphabetical order, right?"

"Of course." Another drawn out response.

Mike grinned and winked. "Then we'll find it. You just sit there and fill out those certificates." He joined Steve at the oversized filing cabinet, putting on his glasses. Steve already had the top drawer open and was rifling through the 'B's'. He stopped and pulled out a file, handing it to Mike, who took it to a nearby desk and sat on the edge. He opened the large manila envelope and removed the x-rays, spreading them out on the desk.

"What are you looking for?" Steve asked, watching Mike hunt through the negatives.

"This one," his partner said finally, holding an x-ray up to the light. He stared at it, a grin spreading slowly across his face. When he turned to Steve, all the frustration and anger that had subtly haunted his features for the past several days was gone.


	11. Chapter 11

Almost bouncing to his feet, Mike approached the coroner, the single large x-ray in his hand, plopping himself back down on the edge of the desk and waiting for Bernie to once more acknowledge his presence. Steve followed a little more sedately.

The pathologist purposely finished signing his name to a death certificate then looked up.

"Bernie, how well do you remember Bennett's autopsy?"

Steve winced as the coroner's normally unflappable features suddenly clouded with exasperation. But, with all due credit, he took a beat and when he spoke his voice was unruffled and even. " _Very_ well, Mike – I just did it a few days ago. Why?"

"Okay, okay," Mike said softly, almost apologetically, "I just don't want you to get mad at me when I ask you, are you one hundred percent sure he was beaten to death?"

Bernie sat back in his swivel chair and tossed the pen onto the desk. "What are you driving at, Mike?"

The senior detective took a deep breath; he knew he was wading into deep waters here, but also that maybe, just maybe, their entire case could be solved in the next few seconds. "Bernie, what are the odds that Bennett was shot and not beaten?"

The coroner froze for a split second then his eyebrows rose and his mouth opened. "What?"

Mike held up his free hand. "Just, just hear me out, okay?" He glanced up at Steve before he started again. "Let me ask you this: is it possible for a bullet to disintegrate if it goes through, let's say, a wall first and then almost all the way through a human body?"

Bernie frowned and seemed to think about it before he spoke. "Well, it depends on what the bullet was made out of, of course, but yes, that can happen." He dropped his voice, asking, "Why?"

Mike smiled almost gently. "Now, I know I just put you on the spot because, well, let's face it, you weren't looking for a bullet when you did the autopsy. None of us were. And you can't find something you're not looking for. But, just bear with me here, is it possible for a bullet to be responsible for all the internal injuries that Bennett had?"

Bernie nodded slowly. "It's possible, yes."

"All right," said Mike with a nod then, tilting his head slightly with a wry smile, he held up the x-ray so they could both see it. It was the x-ray of Bennett's heart. He pointed to a spot on the negative. "In your professional opinion, Bernie, could that be a bullet hole?"

As he stood up, Bernie took the x-ray from Mike's hand and crossed to the view box on the far wall, slipping it under the top metal lip and snapping on the light. As he studied it closely, the two detectives came up behind him.

After several seconds and careful study, Bernie turned to the partners, crossing his arms. He looked down, took a deep breath, then looked up into Mike's eyes. "Yes, that could very well be a bullet hole."

# # # # #

Steve hung up the phone and stood, picking up his notebook and crossing to the inner office, dropping down in the second chair just as Mike was finishing up his conversation. "Well, that's was no help at all," the older man groused, dropping the handset onto the cradle, "they had him cremated."

"Of course they did," Steve smiled, flipping back a few pages in his notebook. "So I've had Baker seal off Bennett's room and he's gonna move the electricians to another floor. He's using some excuse about the plumbing." He chuckled. "Well, he couldn't use an electrical excuse, now could he?" Mike nodded with a grin and a chuckle of his own. "So how is Mrs. Bennett doing?"

"Oh, not bad. She seems to be holding it together pretty well. I'll be happy when we can wrap this up and we can tell her what really happened to her husband." His expression had sobered briefly then he brightened up again. "So, when are they going to have Halladay and Armitage out of their room?"

"They should be all moved out by tonight, so we can get in there either late tonight or sometime tomorrow morning. Your choice."

Mike thought about it for a few seconds. "Well, I really don't want to antagonize those guys in the crime lab any more than we have to – they're already overworked. Let's ask them to do it first thing in the morning. They know what we're looking for, right?"

"Yep."

"And the repair in the wall in Bennett's room?"

"Ah, yes," Steve smiled, flipping a few pages in his notebook, "poor Mr. Baker, at this rate I don't think he's gonna want to be in the same building with you, let alone the same room." He checked his notes. "Yeah, seems that they had that hole repaired two days after Bennett died, when they had the room cleaned. The maintenance man – not Scott, the daytime guy – thought it was from the doorknob. I guess he didn't do the 'the doorknob and the hole don't line up' test that you did," he finished with a chuckle.

"Well, that's why I get the big bucks," Mike said with a grin as he absorbed this new information. "And Linden, anymore news on him?"

"Well, now, he's a very interesting guy. He's 43, from Sacramento, divorced, no kids, freelances like our other two blue collars. This is his first stint with Woods Electrical but they've had no problem with his work ethic or his skill. Shows up on time, does a good job, that kinda thing.

"But, and this is a big but, he has a record. He's been clean for the past five years but he's had two arrests for assault, done some time, and he's been in trouble for 'threatening with a firearm' and 'unlawful discharge of a firearm'. He's a gun nut."

"Anything recently?"

"Nope, this was all about five years ago and longer. He's been clean. But that doesn't necessarily mean, of course, that he's been a good boy."

"No, it doesn't. Well, buddy boy, let's get everything we know together, go over it with a fine-toothed comb once more, wait for the report from the lab boys after they have a chance to go over those two rooms tomorrow, and then we play our cards." He looked at Steve and smiled. "This is gonna be fun."

# # # # #

"Mr. Halladay, good to see you again," Steve greeted the electrician amiably, extendng his hand.

"You too, Inspector," Haladay grinned, taking the proffered hand. "This here's Rolly Armitage."

Steve looked up at the tall rangy redhead, who eyed him warily. "Mr. Armitage, Inspector Keller, San Francisco Homicide. Gentlemen, this is my partner, Lieutenant Stone."

Mike, who had stayed a few feet away, now stepped forward and shook both men's hands. "Good to meet you fellas. And I want to thank you for coming in today. Steve and I have been working really hard on trying to solve Mr. Bennett's death and I'm afraid we haven't done too well up till now."

Both detectives were watching the two electricians carefully, and neither saw any sign of stress or worry. But they had already made up their minds about which one they wanted to interview.

Mike nodded over his shoulder and Sergeant Norm Haseejian and Inspector Bill Tanner stepped forward.

"Mr. Armitage, if you could go with these two gentlemen." On the confused and suddenly slightly concerned looks, he continued smoothly. "Just routine. We want to get signed statements from you as to what went on in and around your room on Monday night, and we have to do that separately. It's no big deal."

"Mr. Armitage," Haseejian said, stepping forward, "if you could follow me please? Right this way." The Armenian detective headed off across the Homicide squadroom, Armitage falling into step behind him and Tanner bringing up the rear.

"So, Mr. Halladay, this way please," Steve said, holding out a hand towards the interview room in the far corner. When Halladay started towards it, Steve glanced at Mike and they smiled slightly at each other; the anticipation in the senior detective's eyes was unmistakable.

As they entered the room, Steve motioned Halladay to the chair on the far side as he sat in one of the two nearest the door, tossing his notebook onto the table. Mike closed the door after he entered then stood in the corner, leaning against both walls, putting his hands in his pockets. Steve slid a large yellow legal pad and two ballpoint pens across the table in front of the electrician, smiling as he did so. "Mr. Halladay, we're gonna need you to write down your statement and then sign and date it and we'll have it notarized, and then, that's it," he reassured the somewhat nervous heavy-set man.

"Oh, ah, Jerry, please call me Jerry." He glanced quickly from Steve to Mike, chuckling. "You know that old saying, ' _Mister_ Halladay is my father'."

Steve flashed a quick smile, glancing up from his notebook. From his position in the corner near the door, Mike nodded his thanks, his expression remaining neutral.

"So, Jerry, basically what we need is just for you to write down exactly what you told me the other day when I talked to you at the hotel."

"That's it?" Halladay smiled, obviously surprised.

"That's it." Steve snapped his notebook shut and looked up again. "So we're just gonna leave you in here and you write down everything, and I mean _everything_ you told me and anything else you can remember about that night, okay?"

Swallowing heavily, Halladay glanced from Steve to Mike. "Oh, sure, yeah, I can do that. Not a problem." He picked up one of the pens and repositioned the pad.

"And when you're finished, Lieutenant Stone and I will come back into the room and then we'll just need you to sign and date every page in front of a notary," Steve explained further as he got to his feet and joined his partner at the door. Mike had it open and was waiting patiently, a half-smile on his face.

"Take your time," Steve encouraged, "there's no rush. We just want to make sure you get everything down and you don't leave anything out." He started to leave then stopped and turned back. "Oh, can we get you anything to drink, a coffee maybe?"

"Oh, ah, I could use a Coke, if that's okay?"

"Sure, no problem. I'll be right back with that," Steve finished with a smile, closing the door and joining his partner on their short walk back to the inner office.

Flashing a brief, very satisfied grin, Mike said dryly, "You better get him that Coke."

oHom


	12. Chapter 12

"Mr. Halladay, oops, sorry, Jerry has his Coke," Steve said with a chuckle as he entered the small glass-walled office and sat in the second chair.

Mike smiled. "Good. Let's keep him happy. I just got off the phone with Dan. He and Lee are on the construction site and they have Linden under surveillance. Dan says he seems to be a bit on edge; he's noticed Armitage and Halladay aren't there."

"As long as he doesn't decide to make a break for it, we should be okay."

"Yeah, there's a black-and-white outside the one and only entrance to the site, unless he decides to go over a wall, but that doesn't seem likely. He's pretty bottled up."

Mike had gotten in touch with Devereux the night before and, without going into too much detail, had informed the construction foreman about the direction the investigation had gone, and the police department's wish to re-interview Halladay and Armitage and keep Linden under surveillance.

Devereux, after being reassured that he himself and his company were not in any way being implicated or investigated, and anxious to keep it that way, readily agreed to release Halladay and Armitage for the day to report to Bryant Street. And he also gave permission for two plainclothes police officers to spend the day on site, to keep tabs on Robert Linden.

So on this bright summer morning, Inspector Lee Lessing, wearing blue jeans, a workshirt, steel-toed boots and a hard hat, and who had spent a summer as a teenager working construction, was 'hired' as a day labourer. And Sergeant Dan Healey, wearing a dark suit, a nametag, a hard hat and carrying a clipboard, was a site inspector, spending the day overseeing the safety precautions and practices. Their covers were perfect.

Mike looked at his partner and sighed. "Well, now all we can do is wait."

Steve glanced through the small office windows towards the interrogation room where they had left Halladay with his pad and pens. "Shouldn't be too long, I would think. He didn't have much to tell me when I interviewed him the other day."

"Yeah. I wonder how Haseejian and Tanner are doing?" Steve just nodded slowly, knowing Mike's question was rhetorical.

# # # # #

"So, you're all finished?" Steve asked congenially as he opened the interview room door and entered, his partner and a third man hard on his heels.

Halladay looked up from his seat behind the table, smiling and nodding. "Yep. Didn't take too long. Like I said, nothing really happened so there was nothing much to write." He put the two pens on top of the pad and slid it across the table closer to the shirt-sleeved inspector, who had sat. Mike remained near the door, which he had closed and was now leaning against. The third man walked to the end of table, laid down a briefcase and opened it, taking out a notary seal embosser and a very official looking certificate.

Steve turned the pad around, sliding the pens onto the table, and flipped a couple of pages, scanning the impressively neat handwriting. Seemingly satisfied, he looked up, meeting Halladay's eyes. "Thanks for this."

Curious, Halladay watched as Steve gently tore the written upon sheets from the legal pad, made sure they were aligned, and handed them to the third man. "Jerry, this is Mr. Parker. He's a certified notary public. Ron, this is Jerry Halladay."

The silver-haired public servant nodded pleasantly. "Mr. Halladay." Without waiting for a reciprocating salutation, he took the sheets of paper and laid them back down on the table in front of the electrician. "Sir, I just need you to sign and date each page."

"Oh, sure," Halladay said, taking the pen Steve was proffering and set about doing just that. Finished, he put the pen back down on the table. "Anything else?"

While Halladay had been signing and dating each page, Parker had started to fill out the certificate. "Yes," he said formally, then, "Mr. Jerome Halladay, do you acknowledge or declare that you understand this document and have signed it voluntarily for the purposes stated in it?"

Looking suitably baffled, Halladay glanced at Steve, who nodded encouragingly. "Um, ah, yeah, I mean, yes."

"Thank you," Parker replied, as he finished filling out the certificate. That task completed, he embossed it with his official seal, then replaced the embosser back into his briefcase. He put the certificate on top of the written statement and handed the papers to Steve.

Mike opened the door as Parker picked up his briefcase and turned to exit. "Mike," Parker said amiably as he left the room.

"Thanks, Ron," Mike smiled his gratitude as he closed the door behind the notary public and turned back into the interrogation room.

"So that's it? I can go?" Halladay asked, starting to get to his feet and staring at the cop across the table. Steve shook his head.

"Well, you could have," Mike said slowly as he started to cross to the corner of the table, his suddenly hard blue eyes boring into the electrician's face, "until you made a false police report."

Halladay's smile faltered then disappeared altogether. He stared at Mike then let his eyes drop to meet those of the younger partner. "What? What do you mean?"

"Oh, I think you know what we mean, Mr. Halladay," Mike said softly, his voice carrying a subtle menacing edge. "I think it's time you told us the truth, don't you?"

"The truth? What are you talking about? I _have_ been telling you the truth, the god's honest truth. I just wrote it all down, right there," he protested, pointing at the yellow sheets of paper near Steve's elbow.

"No," said the inspector, his tone as hard and uncompromising as his partner's, "what you wrote was what you want us to _think_ happened that night. But we all know better, don't we?"

Squirming, his eyes snapping back and forth between the two cops, Halladay stammered, "I - I don't know what you mean. That _is_ the truth."

"Oh, come on, Mr. Halladay," Mike almost yelled, his frustration starting to get the better of him, "how stupid do you think we are? Do you actually think we'd bring you in here and do all of this if we didn't already know what went on between your room and Bennett's on that night?"

Halladay froze, swallowing heavily, and turned his furrowed brow and worried eyes towards Steve, who smiled ironically and nodded slowly. "Jerry, we're detectives. This is what we do for a living. Did you really think you guys could get away with this? That we wouldn't figure it out?"

"Figure what out? I don't now what you're talking about?" Halladay's voice was getting higher with the sudden strain.

Mike took a deep breath as both cops let a brief silence float through the air. "Sit down, Mr. Halladay," he said quietly and they both watched as the now flustered electrician, his breaths rapid and shallow, put both hands on the table and dropped heavily back into the chair.

Mike crossed to the chair beside Steve and sat, leaning over the table slightly. "Mr. Halladay… Jerry, you have to make a decision. You have to decide if you're going to tell us everything that went on in your hotel room on Monday night, or if you want us to charge you not only with filing a false police report, but involuntary manslaughter."

Steve glanced quickly at his partner. He knew that charge would be stretch at the very least, but he also knew they had to get the man's full attention, and nothing does that faster than the threat of imprisonment.

"Manslaughter?!" Halladay gasped. "What are you talking about? I didn't kill Bennett."

"We know that," Steve said calmly, "but we also know you were in the room when the bullet went through that wall, weren't you?"

Halladay looked quickly from one cop to the other, then with a deep frustrated sigh, he leaned back and his rigid posture sagged. "Don't I get a lawyer?"

And in that instance, both detectives knew the game was over.

Steve glanced at his partner, who nodded. He slipped a card from his shirt pocket and held it out towards the now furiously perspiring electrician. "You have the right to remain silent. Everything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you. Do you understand these rights I have just read to you?" Halladay, his mouth slightly open and his eyes wide with fear, nodded. "With these rights in mind, do you wish to speak to us?"

"I, ah, I can't afford a lawyer…"

"We can get you one," Mike said gently as they both watched the electrician struggling to make a decision. "You can do yourself a lot of good if you decide to talk to us right now, without a lawyer. If you're honest with us, if you tell us what really happened, then we can ask the District Attorney to drop all charges against you."

"You can do that?" There was a tinge of hope in his desperation.

"Well, we can't guarantee it, but I've seen it happen before," Mike said smoothly.

"Jerry," Steve added just as softly, "if you don't help us, we'll make the same offer to Armitage. And I'm sure he'll take the deal." He hesitated for a few seconds, giving Halladay time think about what he was being asked and offered. "So, do you want that lawyer? Or do you just want to talk to Mike and me?"

Breathing now in heaving gasps, Halladay ran a hand over his face, his features dissolving as he struggled to come to a decision. "I'll, ah, I'll talk to you."

Relaxing, leaning back and crossing his legs, Mike said quietly, "You've made the right choice. Now just tell us what actually happened in your room on Monday night."

Halladay looked down, swallowed hard, then looked back up, his face a mask of fear and guilt. "We didn't do it, Rolly and me, you gotta believe me. We really didn't. It was Bob. Bob Linden. He's an electrician, just like us. We have drinks with him once in a while and that kinda stuff. It was him."

Steve smiled sympathetically. "We know that, Jerry. We know all about Robert Linden. But we need to hear it from you. You have to tell us everything that happened that night."

Halladay's face brightened slightly. "Then we'll be off the hook?"

Mike's smile was quick but not as friendly. "It depends on what you have to tell us. So let's get started, shall we?"


	13. Chapter 13

"Well, ah, well, we finished work on Monday and we asked Bob if he wanted to come back to our room and we'd pick up some beer and maybe get a pizza or something like that. We'd been working really hard and we needed to blow off a little steam, you know how it is?" Halladay, who had been staring at the table, glanced up, meeting Steve's eyes briefly and the cop smiled slightly.

"Anyway, we started drinking before we ordered food and I guess we all got a little drunk a little too fast, but we weren't out of control, you know. We just were getting a little loud and well, you know how it is when you get three guys together, I guess we started getting a little … I don't know, braggadocio I guess you could call it." Halladay chuckled slightly. "My mom used to use that word – I kinda always liked it.

"So, ah, anyway, Bob starts telling us about all the guns he has and how good a shot he is, and all that kinda bullshit, and Rolly and I just let him go 'cause we've seen him drunk before and he can get kinda mean and unpredictable. Then at one point, I'm not sure when, we weren't paying much attention to the time, but I know the sun was still up, Rolly goes to the can to take a leak, and Bob just gets up and leaves the room. We thought he'd just gone home, but he comes back a few minutes later and he has this gun stuck in the waistband of his pants."

Halladay looked from Steve to Mike, his eyes wide. Mike, glancing briefly at his partner's profile, leaned forward and rested both forearms on the table.

"Do you now what kind of gun it was?" Steve asked quietly.

Halladay shook his head. "No. No, I don't know much about guns. I hate those things. Rolly might know, I think he knows about that kinda stuff."

Steve had unsnapped his holster and now laid his Smith&Wesson .38 Police Special on the table. "Did it look like this?"

Halladay studied the revolver then nodded. "Yeah, yeah, it did look something like that, I think. I'm really not sure, fellas. I didn't take my eyes off the barrel. I was scared to death of that thing."

Steve reholstered his weapon, snorting slightly at Halladay's choice of words. From the corner of his eye, he could see Mike's lips curl slightly as well. The electrician remained oblivious to what he had just said.

"So then what happened?" Mike prompted.

"Well, Bob's more than just a bit of a braggart, like I told you, and he kept saying what a good shot and a fast draw he was, that if he lived back in the Old West he woulda been a gunslinger and all that kinda crap, you know? As he got drunker and drunker, he was taking the bullets out of the, what do you call it? The cylinder. He'd leave only one bullet in it and then spin it, you know, like he was playing Russian roulette, and then he'd point it towards the wall and pull the trigger. It never fired, thank god, but jeez, it was scaring the shit out of us, you know. We kept telling him to put it down, put it away. Rolly and I were both scared it was gonna go off accidentally and hit one of us."

Halladay stopped and picked up his can of Coke, draining the last of it. Steve got up and crossed to the door, opening it and sticking his head out. He motioned for Sekulovich and when the uniformed sergeant approached, whispered his request. As the sergeant moved away, Steve closed the door and returned to his chair.

"Go on, Jerry," Mike urged quietly.

"Anyway, ah, I guess we were drinking more and more, and Bob was getting more and more out of hand. He was really starting to seriously scare us, but we finally persuaded him to stop fooling around with the gun. I remember he picked it up and put all the bullets back in it, and that scared me even more." Halladay shuddered, reliving the moment.

"So how did it fire?" Steve prompted when the electrician fell silent.

"Oh, ah, god yeah, well, I don' know what time it was, but all of a sudden Bob pulls out this metal tube thing – I didn't know what it was. And he's laughing and all that kinda stuff and he tells us it's a homemade silencer and he starts to put it on the barrel of the revolver and then he starts waving it around again."

Steve turned to look at his partner, whose brow was furrowed. Silencers aren't made for revolvers, they both knew, but they had heard of homemade devices that, while not silencing a revolver completely, succeeded in cutting down a great deal of the noise they are prone to make. This was an aspect of this shooting that they hadn't considered, and one that went a long way in explaining why no one else on that floor had heard a shot.

"What did it look like, the silencer, I mean?" Mike asked.

"Well, it wasn't like those things you see in the James Bond movies, you know, like they screw onto the end of the barrel? Nah, this one kinda snapped on overtop of the end of the barrel. It looked kinda Mickey Mouse, but when the gun went off, jeez, it didn't sound like I thought a gunshot would sound, you know what I mean? It wasn't loud, it was just like a balloon bursting."

There was a soft knock on the door, and Steve got up. As Mike held Halladay's gaze, Steve sat down again, popping the tab on a fresh can of Coke and setting in on the table in front of the unnerved electrician, who, with a small thankful smile, picked it up and took a deep gulp.

"How did the gun go off?" Steve prompted once more when Halladay put the can on the table.

He looked at Steve, brow heavy with guilt, then looked down and took a deep breath. "It was an accident, it really was. Rolly and I had ganged up on Bob, 'cause that gun really was scaring us, and he got mad at us and accused us of being pussies and all that, but he finally just slammed the gun down on the arm of the chair he was sitting on… and it went off." He stopped and shuddered, looking down at the table. "He'd, ah, he'd told us he had done something to it to make it a 'hair trigger', he called it, and by god, when he slammed it down, it just fired, all by itself."

Halladay stopped talking. The two cops waited. After several long seconds, the severely rattled electrician shook his head slowly. His voice was barely audible. "The bullet went through the wall. It happened so fast, none of us could believe it. We heard the guy in the other room… Bennett… we heard sort of a cry, I guess… and we knew… we knew he'd been hit… We just sat there – none of us knew what to do… We didn't hear anything else from the next room and we just sorta waited… till someone came to investigate the noise I guess, or Bennett, if he wasn't dead, to call someone…"

Tears had begun to slide silently down Halladay's cheeks and he stared into nothingness. "But nobody came… Bob was the first one to get his bearings back, and he was the one who came up with the idea of filling in the hole in the wall. We used toothpaste and toilet paper. It looked pretty good. Then we all just went down to the bar… Bob went out and put the gun back in the car… and we drank some more.

"We stayed in the bar for about an hour… Bob took off – I guess he went home – and Rolly and I went back up to our room. There was nobody in the hall and it didn't look like anybody had heard anything, so we just went back into our room and didn't say anything… not even to each other. It, ah, it was just too horrible to even consider."

Halladay looked up from his study of the table and met Steve's eyes. The tears had continued to flow, and he gasped for a breath before he finished, "Rolly and I had the next day off… we were coming back from a late breakfast when they were taking Bennett's body out of his room. We just walked past the stretcher like nothing had happened." He choked up, sliding his forearms halfway across the table and dropping his head, suddenly overcome.

Steve looked at Mike, who was staring at the now completely devastated Halladay, his expression unreadable. Taking his cue, the younger detective waited, listening to the muffled sobs for several long seconds. Then he leaned forward, sliding the legal pad and pens closer to the far side of the table.

When Halladay eventually started to raise his head, Steve said gently, "Jerry, we need you to write down everything you just told us."

Starting to pull himself together, the shaken man looked up into two pairs of genuinely sympathetic eyes, then sat up. Mike had removed his handkerchief from his pants pocket and was holding it out. Halladay took it gratefully, wiping his face and eyes, then reached for the pad, pulling it closer and picking up a pen.

"You keep that," Mike said gently, gesturing towards the handkerchief as he stood, Steve following suit. "You're gonna be here for awhile, Jerry. Is there anything we can get you for lunch?"

Swallowing hard, Halladay nodded, now completely aware of the gravity of his situation. His stricken look softened slightly at the offer and he smiled wanly. "Ah, sure, um, could I get a Reuben and a Coke?"

Mike smiled and nodded. "You got it," he said as he started to leave. Steve had preceded him and was holding the door open. They both took a brief glance back at Halladay before they left the room and closed the door.

They said nothing till they were once again seated in Mike's office, both dealing with the rush of conflicting emotions. The elation at finally having cracked the tough case was tempered by the reality of what had happened, and the devastatingly deadly misfortune that had befallen a totally innocent man.

It was Mike who spoke first. "Listen, ah, I'm gonna go talk to Gerry, see if I can get him started on a warrant. I want to get this Linden jerk picked up before he can do any more harm." He got up from behind the desk and started for the door. "Keep an eye on Halladay."

Steve, who had continued to stare straight ahead, nodded and said quietly, "Yeah."


	14. Chapter 14

**_Thanks for coming along for the ride everybody. Writing a pure procedural was a challenge, and turned out to be a heck of a lot of fun! I hope you agree. And sincerest thanks for all the feedback. Very much appreciated._**

As the tan LTD pulled up behind the black-and-white, Mike did up his collar button and tightened his tie. "All right," he said, picking up the warrant from the seat beside him and slipping it into his inside jacket pocket, "let's do this."

Pocketing the keys, Steve got out and slammed his door as Mike did the same. The older man crossed to the passenger side of the patrol car and tapped on the window, then continued across the street to the construction site entrance. Two uniformed officers exited their car and fell into step behind the detectives.

Steve glanced over his shoulder and almost did a double take. His face split into a wide grin. "Officer Johnson, good to see you again."

Smiling proudly, the young cop glanced quickly at the fast-moving lieutenant ahead of him. "Thank you, sir," he said, "you too."

Steve doubled his pace to catch up to his partner, who smiled at him sideways.

"I figured he deserved to be with us when we put the cuffs on the killer," Mike explained with a slight shrug. Steve chuckled and shook his head. "What, you don't agree?"

The head shaking turned into a nod, and Steve reached up to slap the older man on the shoulder.

Displaying their stars and I.D.'s, they approached the security guard. "Would you get Mr. Devereux for us, please?" Mike asked pleasantly, and the guard nodded, taking a step back to speak into a walkie-talkie.

"You know, they're probably gonna make us put on hard hats," Steve whispered as they glanced around the large work site.

"Let's hope Devereux can shut work down for a few minutes and let us get this over with," Mike replied without looking; he was scanning the area for Healey and Lessing, knowing Linden would be close by.

"Here's Devereux," Steve announced quietly, and Mike turned to his right to see the foreman approaching, his hand extended.

"Gentlemen," Devereux said warily as he shook their hands, "so it's, ah, it's over?"

"Yes," Mike said with a curt nod, "we're here to arrest Robert Linden. Can you take us to him, please?"

"Well, ah, we usually require visitors to wear hard hats, but I think we can waive that right now." He glanced at his watch. "Lieutenant, if I might make a suggestion?" On Mike's nod, he continued. "Well, we're close to our lunch break. It's a big site and we use a siren to signal lunch. It's your call, Lieutenant – do you want to arrest him where he's working on site, or as he's exiting for his lunch break?"

Mike didn't have to think about it. "I want to take him where he's working, less chance of him trying to make a break for it."

"Sounds good to me. Just give me a couple of seconds, will ya?" He turned to a man hovering nearby. "John, give us about five minutes to get closer to section 12, then hit the horn." Devereux turned back to Mike. "How does that sound, Lieutenant?"

Mike smiled. "Works for me."

"Good. Well then, gentlemen, follow me." Devereux spun on his heel and headed back into the belly of the building. As they moved across the gravel and mud-filled ground towards the open maw that would become the ornate front door of the massive structure, he volunteered, "Section 12 is on the 10th floor. They're working on the wiring up there today. We'll have to take the elevator up."

He led the four police officers across the almost completed first floor to the construction elevator and they started up. "Sergeant Healey and Inspector Lessing are up there right now. They've pretty well had Linden in their sights all day." He glanced down and shrugged slightly. "Hell, so have I since I got your call. I want that bastard off my site, the sooner the better." He looked up at Mike quickly. "But I don't think he's suspicious."

"Thanks," Mike smiled. "We appreciate all the help. Now let's try to make this as uneventful as possible."

They were just stepping off the elevator when the lunch siren sounded. All around them workers stopped and looked at each other, glancing at their watches, confused, but slowly they set down their tools and started towards the elevator.

Crossing the cement floor towards the skeletonized wall being wired that day, Mike and Steve could see Linden getting up from his knees. He was a brawny, bullet-headed powerhouse, just slightly shorter than Mike. He was staring at the wall, as if taking stock of what still needed to be done, and taking off his work gloves when they approached, standing back a safe distance. Devereux remained several yards behind.

Steve had unsnapped his holster and had his hand on the stock of his .38. From the corner of his eye, he saw Healey and Lessing appear from different directions, keeping their distance. Johnson and his partner McKenna flanked the lieutenant and inspector, effectively forming a semi-circle around the still unaware Linden.

Mike took a couple of steps forward and Steve tensed. Linden seemed to suddenly realize that he was not alone and turned slowly, eyebrows knit. But he didn't seem surprised to see the small cordon of police officers surrounding him.

"Robert Edward Linden, you are under arrest for unlawful discharge of a firearm and involuntary manslaughter, with the option of further charges to be added at a later date," Mike announced formally, keeping his tone steady and even. Only Steve could hear the anger in his words.

Reaching behind himself and slipping the handcuffs from his belt, Mike ordered, "Turn around and put your hands against the wall."

Linden, whose insolent sneer hadn't wavered, chuckled derisively as he started to turn, moving slowly and contemptuously. He raised his arms over his head and slapped them against the drywall, shaking his head and looking down.

Mike snapped open one of the cuffs as he stepped closer to Linden and reached up to grab his right wrist. Twisting his arm down and behind his back, Mike snapped the cuff on and reached for his left wrist.

He was just bringing Linden's left arm down when the electrician made his move. With speed surprising for his size, he pulled his wrist out of Mike's grasp and spun quickly, his elbow up and aimed for Mike's head.

In a split second, Mike was on his hands and knees on the ground and Linden was pushed up against the wall, Johnson and McKenna pinning the larger man flat while the barrel of Steve's .38 pressed into the soft folds of Linden's right cheek just below his eye.

Chuckling slightly, Mike got up, brushing the sawdust from his pants and hands. Not even his hat was out of place. "That's what I love about guys like you, Linden," he said witheringly, "you're so damn predictable."

With Johnson's aid, and Steve backing off slightly but keeping his gun trained on Linden's head, Mike finished snapping the remaining cuff on Linden's now compliant left wrist, tightening it a little more than necessary. He spun the felon around, stared into his defiant eyes, then smiled and took a step back. "Steve, would you do the honors?"

"With pleasure," the inspector said with a smile, holstering his .38 and taking the Miranda card out of his pocket. He took a step closer to Linden and stuck the card in his face. "You have the right to remain silent. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford one –"

"Stuff your rights up your ass!" Linden spit out, and Johnson slammed him back into the wall again.

With a half smile, Steve turned to his partner. "I don't think he wants to talk to us," he said in mock solemnity.

"I'm beginning to get that impression, yeah," Mike agreed, nodding and shrugging. "Oh well, we tried."

Steve took a step back and put the card away, as Mike took his place in front of Linden, staring with intense ferocity into the cold brown eyes. "Officer Johnson," he said slightly louder than necessary, and the young patrolman looked at him. "If you wouldn't mind, I'd like you and your partner to please escort Mr. Linden back to headquarters."

Stepping behind Linden and grabbing him by the elbow, Johnson beamed. "It would be my pleasure, Lieutenant." He propelled the handcuffed man away from the wall and towards the elevator, his partner falling into step behind them.

Steve moved closer to Mike. Grinning and shaking his head, he said through a chuckle, "You know, for an old guy, you still have pretty good reflexes."

"Old guy?! What are you talking about - old guy? He didn't lay a finger on me," Mike protested good-naturedly. "Anyway, all I had to do was duck. I've had plenty of practice over the years, believe me."

They laughed companionably as they started towards the elevator. Steve slid his hand up his partner's back, briefly squeezing his shoulder, both of them relieved that the most dangerous part of their day was over.

# # # # #

"So that one little bullet did all that damage?" Assistant D.A. Gerry O'Brien asked, incredulity in his voice. He was sitting in Steve's desk chair, which had been rolled into Mike's office.

"It sure did," said Mike with a shake of his head. He was at his desk, jacket off and sleeves rolled up, right foot up on the open lower drawer, holding a mug of coffee in both hands. Steve was leaning against the filing cabinet behind him, sipping his own coffee. Tanner was against the other side of the cabinet. Dan Healey straddled the second desk chair, while Lessing and Haseejian supported both sides of the doorframe. The tiny office was crowded.

"Well, how in the hell did Bernie miss that? I mean, come on, a bullet?!" There was disbelief in Tanner's voice, and Mike looked over his shoulder.

Steve glanced at the sergeant and nodded. "Well, like Mike said, it's not hard if you're not looking for it, right? What happened to Bennett was so bizarre that no one's heard of anything like this before."

"So," Healey began, his voice strained and tentative, "the bullet came through the wall and hit him… you know…?"

Mike and Steve exchanged a look and a smirk. They had always known they would have to explain this at some point. Steve chuckled and pushed away from the cabinet, taking a step closer to the desk. "Okay, fellas, brace yourselves," he chuckled slightly and Mike could see the other men tense.

"So, ah," Steve started, choosing his words carefully, "Bennett was lying on the bed watching TV, and we assume from the path of the bullet that he was lying pretty flat with his head propped up by the pillow and his legs at least slightly apart. When the bullet came through the wall, it entered his body through his scrotum," the partners watched in thinly veiled amusement as O'Brien crossed his legs, Healey's hands dropped from the back of the chair to his crotch, and the others shifted uncomfortably where they stood.

Clearing his throat slightly, Steve continued. "The bullet travelled up through his body, destroying his bowels and stomach and then up into his heart where it finally disintegrated."

Getting his fidgeting under control, Lessing asked, "But how come he was found on the floor? Shouldn't it have killed him right away?"

Mike tilted his head. "Well, we talked to Bernie and a couple of other doctors about that. And they all think that, as bad as the internal damage was, it wasn't immediately fatal and Bennett actually had time to stand up and cross towards the door. He probably didn't know what was wrong; he could have thought he was having a heart attack and was trying to get help."

"Yeah, he even transferred the cigarette to his left hand so he could open the door. And he didn't bleed all that much because the entrance wound in this scrotum was so small…" Steve shrugged as the uncomfortable shuddering began again.

"Wow, this was a tough one," Haseejian said with a grim chuckle, shaking his head.

"You can say that again," Mike laughed. "We went down so many dead ends – the air conditioner, the maintenance man, that phone list of prostitutes." He exchanged a quick glance and a smile with his partner.

"Well, I just wish we could charge Linden with murder," O'Brien offered with a sad sigh. "Unfortunately, we can pile on the misdemeanors but the most serious charge we can nail him with is involuntary manslaughter. Because of his background, he'll get a little more time than if this had been his first offense but still… He'll be out in a few years and he gets to live the rest of his life a free man, if he's careful - but Mr. Bennett…" He left the rest of the sentence hang.

"Yeah, talk about being in the wrong place at the wrong time," Tanner agreed sadly.

After a few seconds of reverent silence, Mike raised his head, looking at Haseejian. "Oh, yeah, Bill, Norm, thanks for getting Armitage to come clean. We felt Halladay was the easier touch, and he was, but it was a relief to get his account backed up. You guys did a great job with him."

"I'll say," agreed O'Brien, "sure made my job easier. That and getting our hands on the gun. You guys all did a terrific job, and my office owes you, big time."

"Seriously?" Mike took his foot off the drawer and sat forward, eyebrows on the rise, his voice light and playful. "You gonna remember that the next time your office tells us we don't have enough evidence to charge someone?"

"Hey, I can't make any promises," O'Brien chuckled, holding up both hands in a surrender gesture as everyone laughed.

Mike held is left forefinger up. "You heard him, fellas."

"He's got you, Gerry," Steve grinned and the ADA smiled back, shaking his head in resignation.

O'Brien leaned forward, starting to stand. "And on that note, before I get myself into any more trouble, I gotta head back to my office. Justice never rests, or something like that, right?"

"Yeah, something like that," Mike agreed quietly, putting his coffee cup on the desk. "Seriously though, Gerry, thanks. At least I have some good news to take to Bennett's widow."

O'Brien looked at the senior detective curiously. "Take? What, are you going back up there?"

Glancing sheepishly at Steve, Mike nodded. "Yeah, ah, Steve and I are gonna take a few days off. We need it. I don't know where he's going but I'm going north. Just gonna drive, but I thought I'd stop in and see Mrs. Bennett and let her know that her husband was really the man she always thought he was and that he was just, well, just incredibly unlucky."

O'Brien nodded slowly. "Yeah, I understand that. Tell her… well, just tell her we're gonna do our best to see that Linden never does anything like this to anybody else, ever again."

Mike smiled gratefully. "Thanks, Gerry, I will."

Ten minutes later, the small office had emptied out except for the partners. Mike was putting papers away, tidying his desk. Steve stood in the doorway, as if reluctant to leave. Mike glanced up and stopped what he was doing. "What?" he asked quietly.

"I don't know," the younger detective said, shaking his head slightly. "There's something about this case… This one is gonna stay with me for quite awhile, I think."

Smiling sympathetically, Mike nodded slowly in agreement. "Yeah, me too. I'm not sure why… it's just… I don't know, maybe because it was just so random, that it could have been any one of us… I don't know…" He shrugged.

"Yeah," Steve agreed, nodding slightly and turning towards his desk.

"Hey, ah," Mike said quickly, stopping him, "so, have you decided where you're gonna go?"

With a small half-smile, Steve shook his head. "Not really. I think I just need to sit on a beach somewhere and stare at the water for a bit, and just…think, you know?"

"Yeah, I do," Mike said softly, looking down, then his head snapped up and his smile widened. "We did good, buddy boy. We did good."

Mirroring the look, Steve nodded once more. "Yeah, we did." Their stares locked for a few moments and the smiles disappeared. "You take care," Steve whispered softly.

"You too."


End file.
